Variations on a Theme
by proantagonist
Summary: A collection of Loki-centric one shots and ficlets. See individual chapters for descriptions. More chapters to be added, but this story will always be complete.
1. Loki & Odin (gen)

**Summary** \- A collection of Loki-centric one shots and ficlets.

**Chapter Notes** \- Loki &amp; Odin (Gen). After Odin finds baby Loki abandoned in Jötunheim, they have a discussion about princely etiquette and ultimately decide the fate of a realm. _Bargaining_ Universe - but can be read without it in mind. Originally posted to my tumblr.

* * *

It's not long after the baby changes its color that Odin decides it is no mere illusion. The tiny thing warms in his hands until he's the same temperature as the All-Father. A look of confusion crosses the baby's face, and then he dissolves into a fit of trembles.

Shivering, Odin realizes. A shape-shifter, then—and a powerful one at that.

Odin brings the child back to the encampment, bundled and hidden in his arms. Those who attempt to speak to the All-Father receive no reply, only a hardened stare from his wounded eye that inspires them to keep silent.

Once inside his private tent, Odin sets his treasure down on the bed, which is piled heavy with furs. Loki wiggles in protest, eyebrows knitted together as if to demand to be picked up again.

"What is your name, then, eh?" Odin asks. "We have yet to exchange a proper greeting. I would have expected better etiquette and decorum from a prince of this realm."

"Looooo…" the baby implores. "Keee kah _bah_." His fingers stretch toward the All-Father and then cram back into his mouth.

Odin's lips twitch into a smile. "Loki? Ah. What a pleasure it is to be formally introduced, Prince Loki, though I regret to inform you that you are now a prisoner of war. I saw your great deeds upon the field of battle, and I fear I cannot leave you here in this realm in good conscience. You will no doubt slay all those in your path with your fierce bravery. However, perhaps a bit of supper before I bring you to the stocks?"

Using the tips of his fingers, Odin feeds Loki bits of bread soaked in warm milk. The bread has just the slightest hint of honey and tiny pieces of fruit from Frigga's gardens. At the very first taste, Loki's eyebrows ascend in surprise, evidence of his interest. His little lips quiver with hunger and cold.

"Now, let us speak of reason, young man," Odin says, dipping another piece of bread in the milk. "While I understand you wish to appear in Aesir form in an attempt to make me feel more at ease in your realm, you need not worry. I would like to submit a formal appeal that you shift back into your Jotunn form so that I might better keep you warm. Surely you see the sound reasoning behind this request?"

Loki hiccups and spreads his lips wide to accept the soggy bit of bread. Once Odin gives it to him, Loki bites down hard onto the All-Father's finger.

"Ah," Odin says. "How fortunate that you are not yet in possession of teeth. Is that your way of telling me you approve of this fare?"

Loki gnaws on Odin's finger in increasing frustration.

"You are most welcome," Odin says. "I will pass along your approval to the All-Mother upon my return to Asgard. That is, unless you would consent to offering her this compliment yourself? I fully understand that a proud prisoner of war, particularly one so skilled in conquering the hearts of foreign kings, might not wish to convey such praise to an enemy. Are you attempting to tell me you wish to enter our realm under peaceful accord?"

"Bah!" Loki replies.

"Mmm." Odin gives a thoughtful yet solemn nod that he normally reserves for stately affairs. "Well said, young man. Remember this day, for you and I have decided the fate of this realm. I will draw up the necessary paperwork at once. You will no longer be a prisoner under these accords. Whatever shall I do with you now, my boy?"

The final two words fall from Odin's lips with surprising ease. Before this day, he has only spoken them to one other.

"Loki," Odin says, testing the name again on his tongue. It has an endearing sound to it. Warm and melodic. Not something Odin would have normally chosen, but it fits somehow. "Loki," he says again. The child stares up at him with hunger that has nothing to do with the bread, but his worries seem coaxed away when Odin strokes his little head with his thumb. "Fear not, my son. I will not leave you behind."


	2. Loki & Thor (slash - explicit)

**Chapter Notes:** Loki/Thor (Explicit). Thor wakes Loki up on the morning of his birthday. A 3.7k one-shot written for thorkizilla's birthday. Put your fluff visors on. This is uncharted territory for me. Originally posted to tumblr.

**Warning:** Thorki Porn featuring Intersex!Loki. Which is not so much a warning as a cause for celebration.

* * *

As the first of many birthday presents, Thor wakes his husband up with a trail of warm kisses up the flesh of his soft, inner thigh.

His breath trickles across Loki's skin, which burns pleasantly back against Thor's lips, slightly overheated from lingering overlong beneath the sheets. Loki stirs and yawns, his hands moving to tangle in his husband's hair. He is naked, flushed, and gorgeous with his own hair splayed out in dark waves across the pillow. The morning light softens his features, washing away any hint of stress from the week.

"Thor." Loki's lips draw into a pout. "Mmm sleeping." Despite the protests, his thighs are compliant as they're nudged further apart.

"That is fine," Thor says, his mouth just a whisper above the lips of his husband's quim. "I do not require your assistance."

At the first wet lap of Thor's tongue, Loki's brow creases. He lets out a little gasp of distress and licks his lips. "Not fair," he says—and yet his fingers tighten in Thor's hair in silent encouragement.

Thor kisses his husband there like he would kiss Loki's mouth, then licks a deliberate path upward, taking his time in order to ease Loki into it. The lovely taste of arousal soon finds Thor's tongue, and he spreads it around, making Loki's entrance nice and slick, ready for further play. Thor then progresses upward along the length of Loki's cock, which rests on the pale skin of his abdomen.

Loki's breaths are becoming increasingly staggered and uneven. He's still not quite awake, one foot planted firmly in a dream and the other captured within Thor's hand, which slowly pulls Loki into the realm of consciousness, encouraging him to wake up. The muscles in his abdomen tighten, and he moves his hips as if searching for friction.

His morning erection is not quite at its full glory, and Thor wants to see it swollen and leaking seed onto Loki's stomach. Thor nips at the head of Loki's cock, using just his lips to tease it. A swipe of his tongue on the underside draws out a moan from Loki, and Thor smiles and takes Loki's cock into his mouth, engulfing it down to the root and sucking in his cheeks.

Almost immediately, little curses slip out alongside each of Loki's labored breaths. He's waking up, as is his arousal. When his cock lengthens and hardens, Thor has to relax his throat in order to better accommodate his husband. His fingers find the velvety hot entrance of Loki's quim and coax their way inside.

Their bedroom is dark and chilly, with just the hint of morning hues filtering in from behind the curtains. Thor shivers and moves a little closer, having already shed his clothes before he returned to bed. Loki is delightfully warm beneath him, and Thor longs to increase that temperature even more.

"Where were you?" Loki whispers, now finally awake. His fingers massage Thor's temples and scalp, easing away what little remains of any tension. "I awoke earlier, and you were already gone. The bed was cold."

With aching slowness, Thor lets Loki's cock slide from his mouth and fall back onto his stomach. It's wet and flushed with arousal. Thor licks his lips, savoring the taste before he dips his head down again to tease the underside of Loki's cock with his tongue, lingering just beneath the head where it's most sensitive. "I had some things to take care of," Thor says between licks. "Nothing to worry yourself over."

Loki is quiet for a moment, simply luxuriating in the attention from Thor's mouth and fingers—but eventually Loki's eyes open to stare at the ceiling. "That's right," he remembers. "It's my birthday." With a self-satisfied smile, he snuggles down into the pillows and says, "I demand my presents at once."

Now that Loki is fully awake, Thor slips a third finger inside of his husband's quim, using the honeyed slickness of Loki's arousal to ease the way. "This is it," Thor teases. "You are receiving it."

The lack of retaliation from Loki is evidence of his increasing arousal. His fingers leave Thor's hair and find his own instead, worrying and pulling at the roots in distress. "Better …" Loki gasps. "… be a cake."

His hips rotate as he tries to guide Thor's fingers to the right spot inside of him. When Thor locates it, Loki's head rolls to the side on the pillow, his lower lip captured between his teeth. When he releases his lip, it's red and swollen and far too kissable to ignore.

Thor smiles, absolutely enamored. "Relax, lover. The rest of your presents will come later."

He withdraws his fingers and crawls upward in the bed, nipping and tasting his husband's skin as he goes. After making the journey up the sensuous V at the base of Loki's abdomen, Thor's mouth finds his husband's belly button. He dips his tongue in and explores that erogenous zone until Loki is practically squirming beneath him, needing a release from the focused attention. Thor's fingers leave a wet trail on Loki's skin as they work one of his nipples into a stiff peak. Moving ever upward, Thor licks the trail of Loki's juices away and sucks on a nipple, closing his lips over the hard, pink bud until Loki's gasps turn a shade more desperate.

"Why did you withdraw your fingers?" Loki says. "Give them back."

Thor releases the nipple, which now bears the mark of his love-bite, and he moves to nuzzle the fragrant nook of Loki's neck instead. "In a minute," Thor says as he kisses his husband's pulse "You are demanding this morning."

"Well, it's _my_ birthday, so it's _my_ morning. I am entitled to my demands, and you, dearest husband, are obligated to fulfill them or else suffer the unfolding of my wrath."

"Shhh," Thor says with a light laugh. "Hush and let me kiss you."

He lowers his body down until his hips are fitted snugly between Loki's parted thighs. Their erections are pinned together between their bellies, both swollen, the tips rosy and wet with arousal. Though Thor keeps his weight on his elbows and knees, he lets Loki feel much of it, weighing him down pleasantly in the bed.

Loki wears a mischievous smirk as he licks and sucks his own juices off of his husband's lips. "Do not tell me to hush," he teases. "You cannot wake me up like _that_ and then get distracted."

"Stop looking so distracting then." Thor smooths Loki's hair away from his face and tips his chin upward. "Gorgeous." Their lips meet in a mutual kiss, open-mouthed and lazy. They linger there, practically drunk with each other's taste and scent. "Tell me what you want," Thor whispers against the corner of Loki's mouth. "It is yours."

"Mmm." Loki winds a strand of Thor's hair around his fingers. "Perhaps the South of France on Midgard? We could use a new vacation country."

"That is not quite what I meant." Thor grinds into Loki, causing both of their erections to slide between them in the very best of ways. "Tell me where you want my mouth."

Loki is far too impatient and worked up to continue further attempts at speaking. He pushes at Thor's chest, urging him to move off of him and roll over onto his back. Now free to rise from the bed, Loki moves over his husband until his knees are pressed into the pillow on either side of Thor's head. Loki takes his own cock in hand and strokes as he lowers his quim down onto Thor's mouth. Loki sighs happily as soon as he makes contact, and he's soon force to use his free hand to clutch the bed's headboard for balance.

Thor chuckles as he grips his husband by the hips, helping to steady and guide him. He absolutely loves this, seeing Loki so uninhibited and free, far too turned on to be self-conscious or hesitant. Absolutely none of the pressures of their everyday lives exist in this room.

Loki begins to move, sliding his quim against the warm flat of Thor's tongue. A dazed kind of smile finds Loki's face as he sets the pace he likes best, rising up a bit when it gets to be too much and pressing in when he wants more.

"Did you remember my cake?" Loki asks.

"Mm-hmm," Thor says, unable to manage much else with his tongue so occupied.

"It had better be chocolate, Thor. Especially after last year's debacle."

"Mfffhpppnnhh." Thor's protest is muffled by Loki's quim. Grabbing him by the hips, Thor hoists Loki upward so that he can speak properly. "You _love_ carrot cake. It is your favorite."

Loki glares down at his husband. "Yes, yes, but not on my birthday. _Chocolate is for birthdays_."

With an affectionate growl, Thor cranes his neck up to lick a sloppy kiss into Loki's quim. He smacks his lips and says, "Worry not, lover. It's chocolate. Come back again, and let me see to you."

Loki sighs, relaxing as he again lowers himself back down on his husband's compliant mouth. "What kind of chocolate? Not that dreadful milky stuff, I hope. I want it dark and rich and decadent, do you hear?" Thor points his tongue into a slick little barb, and Loki forgets what he's saying as he fucks himself on it. "Oh, gods, that feels good."

Though Loki loves foreplay, there is only so much time that he's willing to continue without Thor's cock inside of him. Soon Loki is in motion again, pulling away from Thor's mouth and sliding down in the bed. Wasting no time, Loki takes hold of Thor's cock. It's already at full hardness, but Loki isn't satisfied with that. He draws his husband deep into his mouth and _sucks_.

Thor's entire body tenses up as he feels the draw of magic pulling more blood into his erection. It's a trick Loki has used more than once when he's feeling particularly greedy to be stretched wide. Once Thor's cock is sufficiently swollen, Loki releases him and licks the purple tip with a wicked smile.

Thor is about to come unglued. "Don't you even think about it," he says in warning.

And that's all he can get out before he feels Loki's magic slide around the base of his erection, cutting off the blood supply like a cock-ring. Thor groans, knowing Loki won't allow him to come until he's sufficiently satisfied.

"Loki," Thor growls through his teeth.

"My," Loki growls through his own, "_birthday_."

With one final lick of Thor's engorged cock, Loki moves to position his quim over it. Despite his bold demands, his legs are trembling with need as they squeeze Thor's hips between them. Thor helps to guide his husband, gripping Loki's waist as he's lowered down. "Sit back on it, baby," Thor says. "That's right."

Loki shivers. It's not often he permits Thor to call him that, but every now and again, he's too turned on by it to care. As he sinks downward, Loki's mouth opens in surprise at the same time that his quim spreads apart. He starts to fuck himself backwards onto Thor's cock, but despite Loki's wetness, it takes some coaxing to stretch wide enough to take in the full girth and length.

When Thor is finally fully seated within, Loki rotates his hips and says, "_Oh_."

"I thought you were too sleepy for this?" Thor teases.

"What?" Loki gasps, too far-gone to comprehend words.

Thor is beginning to lose focus as well. The velvet grip of his husband's quim is intoxicating, squeezing and heating up every inch of him, and Thor is suddenly glad his cock is bound with magic. He wants this to last.

Loki's palms press against Thor's chest to balance himself, but he's too overcome with sensation to manage this position for long. He lowers his upper body down on top of Thor's chest, letting himself be hugged and fucked from beneath. "It's my birthday," Loki says against Thor's neck. "_You_ do the work."

With a laugh, Thor happily complies. "Very well." After pressing a kiss to Loki's hair, Thor encloses one hand over the back of his husband's neck and hugs him at the waist with the other. This allows Thor to hold Loki in place while he pounds upward into him.

Loki cries out, his knees spreading out onto the mattress on either side of Thor's hips. "Fuck. Oh, fuck, Thor—_harder_."

The sound of their coupling nearly drowns out every word—skin slapping against skin. Loki has given up control and is left only to hang on and endure the storm. He's practically sobbing his desperation into Thor's neck by the time the strokes slow.

Loki's quim is sopping wet, allowing Thor's cock to dip in and out with ease despite the tight fit. Thor slows his thrusts and kisses Loki's sweaty temple in an attempt to sweeten the moment. "Do you like that?" Thor asks.

A sharp bark of laughter serves as his reply. Loki is smiling and flushed, his body practically melting on top of Thor's. "Mm-hmm."

"Get on your stomach, flat on the bed."

The command is gently spoken, for Thor knows better than to boss Loki around on such a day as this. Surprisingly, Loki pouts only a little when his husband pulls out of him. He rolls off of Thor and onto the mattress.

Getting up on his knees, Thor winces as he strokes his erection. Only once or twice before has it ever been this large—always Loki's doing. It's dangerous to have an insatiable sorcerer for a husband.

Loki throws himself down on the bed with the side of his face resting against the fluffy pillow. He smiles sleepily and stifles a yawn. Thor moves over him and drops a series of kisses across one shoulder. He takes his time exploring the pert rise of Loki's ass, admiring the firm muscles just as much as the softer places at the base of his cheeks. Thor's cock nudges between them, seeking to reestablish the connection.

When the tip bumps up against Loki's quim, Thor bites his lower lip and readjusts his weight on his knees. His balls are held tight to his body, straining with the need to come, but he can't until Loki allows him to. As the head of Thor's cock penetrates Loki's entrance, Thor lets out a frustrated hiss. The angle is different this way. He can slip a bit deeper, and yet he still wants more. His need is practically masochistic at this point.

"Legs together," Thor says, guiding Loki's thighs into a closed position, not a bit of space left between them. "Yes, that's right."

And that's all he can make out before any further words die on his lips. Loki's quim is a hundred times tighter this way, every push and pull of Thor's thrusts a delicious effort. He sits back on his knees again and grips Loki's ass as he rides him, fingers worrying at the smooth skin, silently begging for some kind of release.

"You're too big this way," Loki protests. His brow is knitted together in distress, but his lips are parted and soft, evidence that he loves every second.

"And whose fault is that?" Thor says.

They stop talking after that. The friction is too much as Thor begins to move in earnest, and both of them are soon gasping and moaning with every stroke. Each individual ridge and curve of Thor's cock is felt this way. Thor is well aware that he's rubbing against Loki's sweet spot in this position and is mindful to angle his thrusts accordingly.

As Thor fucks into him, his whole mind focuses in on the blazing hot point of contact. He loves this—being able to see his cock sliding in and out of Loki's gorgeous cunt, which peeks out between the slopes of his ass. And then there's Loki's face, his cheek resting on the pillow beside his hand, which grips the pillowcase with increasing desperation. His skin is ruddy and glowing with pleasure, his lips swollen and red from biting them as well as from Thor's kisses.

"What about my party?" Loki asks, each word breathy and unfocused.

How he can even speak at this point is beyond Thor's ability to comprehend. His response comes in grunts timed with each thrust. "Don't … worry … all … planned."

"But there are so many—_ahh_—details to get right. The hall, the menu, the guest-list."

"Loki, please let me come. I am about to explode."

"Not yet." Loki turns his face into the pillow and angles his ass upward, which allows Thor to slide just a bit deeper. "I'm so close. Fuck me hard, Thor."

Thor is almost frantic with his need to climax, but he knows he needs to get Loki there first. His fingers tighten their hold on Loki's ass, pushing the cheeks together to increase the tightness even more, and slams into him with enough force that the bedframe begins to protest.

Loki erupts into a near constant stream of curses and cries of desperation. "Thor … oh, gods … I can't … fuck, fuck, you are going to break the bed if you don't …" He seizes up, neck and spine straining as his climax takes him. Soon, he is sobbing his relief into the pillow. "_Ahhh_ …"

A warm gush of liquid bursts between them, brought out by the methodical attention paid to the sweet spot inside of Loki. After Thor rides his husband through his climax, Loki goes limp beneath him, a dazed and boneless heap of overheated flesh in the sheets. Thor pulls out, allowing a moment of recovery. He spreads Loki's ass cheeks and dips his head down, lapping up the juices there, deep between the slit of Loki's quim and all the way up to the tight pucker of his ass. Thor tickles it with his tongue and says, "Now this is what I will be having for _my_ birthday, husband. Take note."

Loki laughs, even as he shivers with pleasure. "No harm in celebrating early this year. Perhaps this evening? Though for now, I think I want to kiss you again."

Thor watches adoringly as Loki rolls over beneath him and parts his thighs to allow his husband a place between them. As their lips meet and work against each other hungrily, Loki snakes a hand between them to take Thor's erection. Loki guides it until the tip presses into his entrance and then reaches to grasp Thor's balls gently, sending warm, pleasurable magic into them. Thor groans against Loki's kisses and thrusts inside in one push, too pent up to be gentle anymore. His movements are all selfish need now.

"Come inside of me, Thor," Loki says, tightening his Kegal muscles at the same time that he releases the magical binding on Thor's cock.

Thor feels as though he's been leaning his full weight against the support of a dam that has just crumbled beneath him. With a strangled cry, Thor hugs Loki to his chest and pounds into him without mercy, kissing and biting at his husband's neck until a powerful orgasm takes him. Loki laughs as Thor whispers promises and endearments to him and finally collapses, panting with sated relief.

Things grow still after that as they both recover. Loki wraps his legs around his husband, fingers threading through the silky blonde hair. Thor is still inside him, and Loki's cock is sticky with his own release, half hard and trapped between their bellies. "If I held you to half of those promises, my king," Loki says, "you would be a poor man indeed."

"Perhaps." Thor kisses Loki behind his ear, tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin. "But a very happy one."

"You forgot to add lucky, blessed, and sexually satisfied."

"Well, I thought you might like to claim those descriptions for yourself."

"Arrogant," Loki says. His fingers find Thor's face and guide him in for a deep, lingering kiss. When Thor draws back, Loki searches his eyes. "But truthful, I suppose." His thumb runs across his husband's bottom lip. "I love you, Thor. I don't tell you that enough."

Thor's heart gives a little pang in response to the confession. A smile warms his face and eyes, and he's relatively certain he won't be able to do away with it for at least a week. "It only makes the times when you do say it all the more precious to me."

But there is only so much time Loki is willing to discuss someone else on his birthday. "Dearest husband, as much as I enjoyed every second of that encounter, there had damn well better be more presents in store for me."

Thor's smile widens into a grin. "The second is waiting for you whenever you're ready. I prepared you a bath."

Loki's eyes narrow with interest. "Are there bubbles?"

"Yes."

"_Fragrant_ bubbles?"

"Yes, yes."

"Lavender or—"

"Lemongrass," Thor assures him. "I know what you like."

A sound of approval resonates deep within Loki's chest. "A very good start. And will you be joining me in this bath or fetching me breakfast?"

Thor lifts his eyebrows as if he's uncertain what the correct answer is. "Both?"

Loki's head falls back onto the pillow, the flushed apples of his cheeks prominent with his smile. "You have chosen wisely."

With a laugh, Thor wraps his arms around his husband and sits back on his knees, hugging Loki tight to his chest until he's sitting straddled in Thor's lap. After a final good morning kiss, Thor says, "Come on, lover. Let's get you cleaned up for your day."


	3. Loki & Thor (gen)

**Summary: **Loki &amp; Thor (Gen). Loki must talk Thor down from his berserkr rage.

**Warning:** major character death, which I give you full permission to pretend is undone 30 seconds later. I would not have done it had it not been specifically requested. One day, I might rewrite this with a happy ending. Thank you to portraitoftheoddity for the beta read.

* * *

As Thor's berserkr rage stretches into its seventh night, Loki decides he's irritated enough to do something about it. He thought he had perfected the art of self-destruction, but his older brother outshines him even in this arena.

Thor's skin is slick with rain and sweat, and he seems to glow with an inner fire. His rage has fed into Mjolnir's power, kindling it to maddening levels, so much so that it has crafted its own weather.

Loki crouches nearby, taking shelter behind a rock and glancing warily at the growing tempest above. The black clouds have extinguished the sun and threaten another downpour of acid rain onto the ruined ground. In the distance, dust devils riddled with lightning and dirt die out and respawn—and yet their mindless, twisting path of destruction inspires only a fraction of the fear that their creator does.

When Loki dares a glance over the rock, the echoing war cry drives blistering wind into his face and ash into his eyes. The sound is primal, terrifying—a god fixated on the destruction of a faceless enemy. No foe could stand before such a force, only Thor does not seem to realize his actual enemy has already fallen, the bodies of demons scattered behind him on the battlefield. His mind is consumed with an ancient bloodlust meant to sustain him through long battles.

It is not the first time Loki has cowered in fear before his brother, but it is the first time he has failed to recognize him. Thor Odinson is nowhere to be found in the throat-tearing screams or in the pupils the size of pinpricks, lost in the mirrored pale of his eyes.

Lightning splits the earth not five meters from Loki's hiding place, and he squirms and covers his ears far too late to protect them from the deafening crack of thunder. After hissing out an imaginative stream of expletives, he says, "You idiot. You will rip this realm apart and yourself with it."

Far be it from Loki to prevent such a fine path of destruction, but he would much rather prefer to watch from a safe distance instead of directly in the line of fire. He had hoped Thor would calm over time, yet the savagery only seems to intensify. There is little doubt in Loki's mind that if he does not stop this, it will end with Thor's ruin—either by his own rage or by the efforts of the Midgardians seeking to neutralize the threat to their realm. Already, the mortals convene in the distance, readying their agents and their weapons.

Loki shields himself with seidr, forming a cocoon of protection. Sucking in his cheeks, he braces himself and rises to his feet. His hair stands on end and every footstep kicks up lightning-charged dirt that crackles and sparks in his wake. His heart rate struggles to keep a steady beat, its own electrical impulses thrown off and challenged by Thor's.

A rock slips under Loki's feet, and Thor rears around. There is less than a second to react, and then the boulder behind Loki shatters into sand that melts and solidifies into glass.

Loki holds up his hands in front of his face—not only in fear but also because he can barely look into the glare. "Thor," he calls. "You must stop this."

In the span of time it takes to blink, Thor is right in his face, moving at such speed that Loki falls back onto the ground with a yelp of surprise. He stares up at the god, trembling, his hands alight with seidr he can't bring himself to use. Besides, if he strikes, it will only drive Thor further into rage. The only way past this is to make him see reason, though that task seems impossible. Thor glares down at Loki with unseeing eyes, Mjolnir raised and readied to end the life of his enemy.

"Brother," Loki says, daring a glance over his arm, for Thor has not yet struck him down. Loki uses the seidr he might utilize to defend himself and weaves it into his words instead, luring the listener to hear and obey. "Calm your mind and return to yourself. There is no danger here. Your enemies have fallen."

The working seems to momentarily daze Thor, but the word enemies does not have the desired effect. Though his fist had lowered while Loki spoke, Thor growls and snatches the leather strap at the front of Loki's armor.

"Thor," Loki pleads. His heels drag in the sand and rock and then lose contact with the ground entirely as he's lifted into the air. "Brother, stop. You will regret this. You will… ."

Loki breaks off with a gasp as electricity dances across his limbs, biting cruelly at him despite the spell of protection he laid upon himself. He is quickly losing power, but somehow the pain brings him a moment of clarity. He licks his lips and refocuses his seidr, using the final remnants that he'd previously dedicated to the defense of his body.

"Your brother is in danger," Loki says, the words melodic with the spell's working. "I am lost and want to come home. I cannot find you, brother. Will you help me? I need you to focus on my voice and find… ."

Loki smiles strangely, tears streaming down his face that immediately evaporate. Then he goes limp in Thor's grasp, his heart missing too many beats in a row.

When the SHIELD agents close in on their location less than an hour later, the raging tempest has calmed into a somber downpour. Rain soaks and nearly blinds them, but the punishing wind has died out, allowing their approach.

They find Thor sitting on the ground with a body cradled in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth and gazing off into the distance. His lips tremble and form words he cannot seem to speak aloud. Though rainwater drips from his face and hair, he does not appear to take notice of anything.

"Stand down," one agent calls to his team. Into his communicator, he says, "An Avenger has eliminated the threat. I repeat, the threat is eliminated. Thor got him."

A cheer goes up, and Thor looks at the man hard, his mind struggling to make sense of the words. He is dazed, hardly aware of what has happened or why his brother is so very still and unresponsive.

The remnants of Loki's spell seem to laugh at Thor, as if the final joke is on him. Despite appearances, he knows in his heart that Loki did not cause this destruction.

"He saved me," Thor whispers, memories beginning to surface. More than that, Loki had saved them all. Midgard would not have lasted another week under the strain of Thor's rage.

"What's that?" the agent calls back. "I can't hear you over the storm."

Suddenly, Thor can't hear anything either. He is awash with grief, rendered near breathless and unable to move. With a choked sob, he hugs his brother closer and tucks his head under his chin to shield him from the rain.

* * *

**Notes:**

*whispers*

(and then loki gets up and says "just kidding" and is totally alive because duh he's loki and he does that i don't like unhappy endings okay so make up a happy one and insert it here or tell me in comments because now i'm sad)


	4. Kid Loki & Kid Thor (gen)

**Summary: **Loki &amp; Thor (Gen). Thor meets his baby brother for the first time.

**Chapter Notes: **This one is pretty short, but it's squishy with brother feels so I like it. Written for a request for non-destructive, happy Loki. Which, you know, meant I had to take him back to the age of diapers.

* * *

Thor climbs onto his father's lap like he's scaling a great mountain. Strong hands steady him when he starts to tumble over the edge, but he doesn't take notice. His attention is captured by the baby in his mother's arms, bundled up and asleep in one of her fur robes.

"His name is Loki," Odin explains. "He is your brother."

Thor considers this new information and decides he approves. He has always wanted a brother. "Can he speak?" Thor asks, eager to get through the introductions so they can get to playing.

"Not yet," Frigga says. "You must talk to him often so that he learns." She speaks in the voice she reserves for bedtime stories. Her eyes are fixated on Loki, lips caught in a gentle smile as she runs a fingertip along the baby's plump cheek and down to the little chin.

"Hmm," Thor says. His mother is paying quite a bit of attention to this new baby. Since this is attention previously paid to Thor, it is a matter worth pondering. She must be worried Loki will get into trouble. He's not very big, after all.

"Don't worry, mother," Thor says. "I will protect him."

As Odin chuckles, Frigga turns her adoring smile on Thor, whose chest swells with pride. Problem solved.

"Can I hold him?" Thor asks.

Odin adjusts Thor's position to the direct center of his lap, and Frigga very gently passes Loki over. After she shows Thor how to support the baby's head just right, she lets go, and Thor is left on his own. He bites his lower lip and concentrates, for this isn't as easy as his mother made it look. Loki is not a plaything, Thor realizes.

Loki stirs and awakens from the movement. His little brow crinkles, lips drawn into a pout, and he glares up at this new person who has dared interrupt his nap. But just as he's ready to let loose a fearsome cry, he focuses in on Thor and simply stares instead, green eyes rimmed with wonder.

"Hello, brother," Thor says, smiling as he stares right back. "You are not very big, are you?"

Loki gives a toothless grin and a wiggle. His tiny fingers reach for Thor's ear, and he looks as if he would very much like to chew on it.

"It's all right, brother," Thor whispers, cradling the little head with care he's never given anything else. "You do not have to be big. I'll be big for us both."


	5. Loki & Steve (slash)

**Summary: **Loki pays Steve Rogers a visit upon the occasion of his birthday. Steve/Loki. 3.5k oneshot.

_They had done this before—so many times, Steve had lost count—but afterward, Loki always acted like they hadn't. Their hundredth kiss felt no different than the first._

**Chapter Notes: **For portraitoftheoddity upon the occasion of _her_ birthday. Happy birthday, Lena! You are such an amazing woman, and I feel so blessed to have you as a friend. I wish you all the happiness and Stoki fic in the world. Here's my contribution.

* * *

The partygoers had left something of a mess in their wake. A sprinkling of metallic confetti on the table, a smudge of blue icing on the sofa cushion, and an endless sea of plastic cups and crumpled napkins. Though he'd already been at it for some time, Steve didn't mind cleaning up the mess. It felt good to keep his mind and hands busy.

His apartment was quiet now, though two hours ago, every seat and corner was warmed with the presence of a friend come to celebrate. All of it was a bit overwhelming, with most of the attention aimed solely at him, but he had long since grown used to such things, even if he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea.

The trash bag at his feet was nearly full, beer and soda cans clanking together inside with every staggering step he took across the living room. He paused at the coffee table to retrieve an errant napkin and use it to wipe up a trail of cake crumbs, but before he straightened, he sensed a familiar tingle of electricity in the air.

That was how Steve chose to describe it anyway. Loki called it magic, though he had some other word for it that he spoke with quiet reverence. Whatever it was, it made Steve's senses prickle like there was a storm in the vicinity.

He could feel the burn of a stare on the back of his neck, cooled slightly by a soft rush of air—the sensation like breath on his skin.

Loki did it on purpose—his way of letting Steve know he was close without startling him. Once, Steve had scolded him for appearing out of nowhere and scaring him half to death, but then weeks had passed before he saw Loki again. This was the middle ground they'd agreed upon, for Loki was not one to knock on the door.

When Steve turned to look, he already knew Loki would be standing there, but that didn't make the appearance of a veritable god in his living room any less shocking. Here amongst the relative normality of Steve's home and belongings, it was all too apparent that Loki was anything but human. Tall, lean, with an expression that was equal parts feral volatility and calm intelligence.

He stood with his head tilted slightly to one side, his mouth set in a speculative line as he watched Steve employed with such a menial activity as _cleaning_. Loki wore a tailored black suit, his long hair neatly combed, the ends curled and softer than normal. Maybe it was Steve's imagination, but he didn't remember Loki being quite so thin. The shadows in his face were particularly accented, perhaps a result of the dimly lit room. Perhaps not.

"Captain," Loki said in greeting.

As Steve straightened from his kneeling position in front of the coffee table, Loki's eyes moved past him to take in the rest of his surroundings. He said nothing—merely wrinkled his nose at the birthday cake, which was a decimated smear of crumbs coated with white and blue frosting. Natasha had forced Steve to eat the largest piece of cake—the one bearing his name—but the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY still remained. Everyone had cut the cake around the message, leaving the leftovers for Steve to enjoy later.

Steve smiled sheepishly as he sucked a bit of the sweet icing off of his pinky finger. "I didn't think you'd make it. Glad you did."

Turning in a little circle as he inspected the mess, Loki said, "Yes, well," and left it at that.

Steve's brow furrowed. Was Loki angry with him? He had been invited to the party. He simply hadn't shown up. "Can I get you something? A drink or piece of cake?"

Loki's eyes slowly came to rest on Steve, chin slightly lifted. Though he said nothing in response to the question, it seemed as if he did want something but was unwilling to put a name to it.

Steve almost sighed but disciplined his reaction just in time. Though he wasn't willing to play mind games any more than he ever was, Loki's appearance had left Steve feeling unsettled. The set of his shoulders wasn't as proud. Steve had seen Loki in a variety of different moods—but never one so quietly sad. Something had happened, and it was highly unlikely that Loki would explain the details. Offering an endless trail of cryptic clues was more his style.

Since Loki wasn't saying anything, Steve turned to small talk in an attempt to break the ice. "You know, technically it's not even my birthday anymore." He nodded at the clock on the wall, which revealed the lateness of the hour. "The party ended a few hours ago. You would have seen Thor if you'd shown up earlier."

"Mmm, yes," Loki said with a tight smile. "That was rather the point of my delay."

Steve did sigh, then. "He asked if I'd seen you recently. Said your birthday was coming up soon. You didn't tell me that. When is it exactly?"

Loki's gaze turned unexpectedly hostile for a moment before he looked away. Instead of responding to the question, he said, "It is tradition, I think, to offer a gift upon such an occasion. You have previously mentioned experiencing difficulty achieving the desired effect with Midgardian alcohol."

Steve's eyes trained on the hollows beneath Loki's cheekbones while his attention was directed elsewhere. Loki had definitely lost weight. "Fast metabolism," Steve replied.

Though Loki's hands were empty a moment before, a black glass bottle with no label materialized in them at his bidding. He returned his gaze to Steve as he handed it over, chin hoisted just a bit higher as if he was anticipating rejection. "You will not experience that problem with this particular vintage," Loki said.

Never before had Steve met someone who looked so simultaneously vulnerable yet untouchable, young yet ancient. This was a test, of course, to see if Steve trusted Loki enough to consume liquid of unknown origins. Loki had come a long way in recent years, becoming an ally of sorts to the Avengers, but there was still an uncontrollable edge to him—like he would cut deep if rubbed the wrong way. While he had come to enjoy Loki's company, this was asking a lot from Steve.

Their friendship had been a process—years of slowly building up the trust between the two of them—and Loki had gone a surprising length of time without attempting to hurt himself or anyone else. More surprising than that, the length of time between Loki's visits was growing progressively shorter. However, all of that might go to waste if Steve reacted to this gift the wrong way.

"It will also help you sleep," Loki added in a softer tone.

At that, the skeptical set of Steve's mouth softened as well. Loki had been paying attention.

"I'll get us two glasses," Steve said.

He didn't own wine goblets, so he fetched two tumblers instead. After setting them on the counter, Steve frowned and said, "Wait—I don't think I have a corkscrew."

"That will not be a problem." Loki leaned in close and poured the burgundy liquid into the glasses, having somehow uncorked the bottle himself. His green eyes darted up to Steve's face, the slightest hint of mocking amusement in them, along with something like hope that the mortal might be impressed.

Once Loki set the bottle down on the counter, Steve lifted his glass. "To another year," he said with a ghost of a sigh that had nothing to do with Loki. "If this stuff works, I might be placing an order for more."

Loki inclined his head slightly in lieu of lifting his glass in kind. "To another year. They do seem to keep coming, despite my best efforts to put an end to such nonsense."

Two glasses of wine later, Steve was pleased to discover he wasn't dead from poisoning or paralyzed by a magical curse. He was, however, blissfully relaxed—a state of being he'd not achieved in many years. Troubled thoughts refused to linger in his mind, and his muscles had lost their persistent desire to tense. If he kept drinking, he would no doubt become intoxicated.

They sat together on stools at the kitchen bar, talking quietly, though Loki did not appear nearly as relaxed as Steve felt. Perhaps the wine wasn't as effective on him. Loki barely touched the seat, his legs set in a ready position that would allow him to retreat quickly if the need presented itself.

"I don't know," Loki said out of the blue, his eyes trained on the lingering remnants of wine. He turned the glass, watching the droplets fall upon each other as they flowed in an endless circle.

"Don't know what?" Steve asked.

Loki laughed without humor—a hard, brittle sound that matched the cynical gleam in his eyes. "The date of my birth. You inquired after this information, if you recall."

Steve blinked at him, the alcohol slowing his response time a bit. As a rule, Loki did not share personal details about his life. Though Steve had obtained some information from Thor about Loki's true heritage and his fall from Asgard, there were very few occasions when Steve picked up details from Loki himself.

"In Asgard," Loki continued, "there is great significance placed upon the event. Your fate is said to be tied to the alignment of the realms on the day of your birth. For those important enough to warrant a celebration, there is feasting, gifts, drinking, sometimes even tournaments. Thor's feasts would last the span of a week at the very least. The year he came of age, there was celebration for a month."

Steve wasn't certain how to interpret this information. Loki was talking about everything except himself, and yet in the subtext, there were still clues. The edge of jealousy was present in his tone, but there was also something else. A wistfulness Steve had observed more and more frequently in Loki's mood.

"What about when you came of age?" Steve asked cautiously.

Loki sucked his cheeks in, eyes still fixated on his glass. "There was …" He sighed. "That is hardly the point. It is the day itself in question. I have reason to believe … to _doubt_ the date given to me is the true day of my birth."

As Steve poured them both another glass of wine, he said, "Thor, uh, told me a little about your origins."

Loki looked up sharply, his long fingers tightening around the glass. Though his face remained relatively calm, burning stare aside, the liquid inside the tumbler trembled.

"He didn't provide too many details," Steve added. "Just enough to explain why you kept insisting that he's not your brother. So you're saying you don't think your Asgardian family knew the actual date you were born on—that they just gave you a birthday since they didn't know the real one."

Loki's gaze went unfocused, as if he was staring straight through Steve at something else—perhaps a memory or reflection. There was a lingering moment of silence that lasted so long, Steve became painfully aware of every tick of the clock. This was uncharacteristic Loki behavior. He loved flippantly casting aside concern and speculation. He despised any light shown upon his weaknesses. This Loki was a veritable stranger to him, but Steve wanted to know him better.

He reached out to brush Loki's fingers with the tips of his own. Loki's arm jerked, jarring the glass enough to spill a bit of liquid over the sides, but he didn't pull away as Steve continued to slide just the pads of his fingers across the back of Loki's hand. Steve could offer endless words of comfort and concern, but Loki would reject every one of them. He wasn't interested in pity or empathy—if anything, he found such things to be offensive—but physical affection, he had more difficulty casting aside. Perhaps that was why all of their encounters ended the way they did. It was certainly easier than talking.

"Do you have the ability to find out exactly when your real birthday is?" Steve asked. "Would the date have been recorded anywhere?"

Loki swallowed as if he felt suddenly ill. "That is not … I'm not certain I care enough to inquire."

Steve frowned. Loki definitely cared, but something else seemed to be preventing him from acting on his desire to learn the truth. It was as if Loki did not want his identity grounded at all in the reality of what he perceived as humbler origins, yet he hated that he'd been given an identity built on lies. Neither foundation was one he felt comfortable standing upon, but without either one, there was no identity he could clothe himself in except for the one he'd crafted for himself.

Steve knew he had to try, even though Loki would never listen. "It's important to know where you come from, so I can understand why not knowing your real birthday might bother you," he said. "But don't discount all those years where you did have a day set aside just for you. It's what it represents that's important, so the date you grew up with can still count as your birthday. You have every right to claim it, though you still haven't told me exactly when it is. Humor me. I'm curious."

Loki's expression was lost somewhere between wariness and amusement. "Why?"

As Steve's fingers continued to explore Loki's hand, his eyebrows lifted and knitted together in the middle. "Does there have to be a reason beyond a friend wanting to know? Maybe I'd like to get you something."

Loki flinched at the word _friend_ and pulled his hand away. "That is unnecessary. I did not bring you a gift so that I might receive one in return."

"And I would still want to get you a gift even if you hadn't brought me one," Steve replied calmly. "That's what you do when you care for someone." He was careful not to call Loki his friend again. "So when is it?"

Dragging his thumb thoughtfully across his chin, Loki said, "I know not how the date would translate to your Midgardian calendar."

The side of Steve's mouth pulled into a half-smile. "Now why do I get the feeling that's a lie?"

A hint of a smile found Loki's lips as well. "Perhaps the subject has been on my mind of late for a reason."

"So it _is_ soon, then," Steve guessed.

"Tomorrow." Loki's eyes found the clock. "Though I suppose tomorrow is already upon us."

"Oh." Steve straightened, surprised by the revelation. "_Oh_. Our birthdays are only a day apart then."

"So it would seem," Loki mused. "If you choose to believe the lie."

Steve was already in motion, still listening to his guest but rummaging around at the same time. In less than a minute, he located a clean plate and fork and served up the last piece of cake—the one that bore the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY on it. He found an unused candle and stuck it in the middle.

While Steve fiddled with the lighter, Loki smiled skeptically down at the message. "Happy birthday," he read. "That's a rather presumptuous missive. What if I refuse and choose to sulk?"

Steve lit the candle and set the lighter aside. Leaning with both his hands against the bar, he smiled at Loki, who was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was pleased. "That's your choice," Steve said. "Won't stop me from hoping for the best."

"Is there a particular meaning behind the candle?" Loki asked, gazing down at the flame as if he wasn't quite certain what to make of it. "In Asgard, they light them for the dead. I do hope Midgardians have a different interpretation."

"Make a wish," Steve said. "Then blow it out."

"Ah." The flame was reflected in Loki's eyes as they flickered up to look at Steve. "And what did you ask for, Captain? World peace, the end of all suffering, or perhaps the slow, methodical taming of your sworn enemy?" Surprisingly, the last few words held only the slightest hint of bitterness. Loki was teasing him.

Steve paused only long enough to wonder if Loki had any idea how beautiful he was.

"You can't tell anyone what you wish for," Steve replied. "It won't come true if you do. Go on. Make a wish. Cake covered in melted candle wax doesn't taste that great, so you should probably hurry. Go with your first instinct."

"I must admit," Loki said, his voice perfectly smooth, "there is but one thing I desire."

He stared at him with such focused intensity that Steve's stomach filled with butterflies. Leaning forward, Loki blew out the candle without breaking eye contact, and Steve's attention fell to the soft set of Loki's parted lips, which were reddened from the wine.

Without thinking, Steve moved to kiss Loki. Almost immediately, they reached for each other, their movements just as bold as they were inquisitive. Steve's hands slid beneath Loki's jacket to find his waist, while Loki grabbed fistfuls of Steve's shirt to haul him closer. But as their bodies came together, their lips broke apart as if suddenly uncertain what should happen next.

Their breath mingled, the sharp scent of the candle's smoke biting at their noses. Steve's head tilted to the right, and he leaned in, eyes open and asking unspoken questions. Loki tipped his chin up in response, and their lips came together again—barely parted, a warm, comforting pressure.

They had done this before—so many times, Steve had lost count—but afterward, Loki always acted like they hadn't. Their hundredth kiss felt no different than the first. The thrill, the nervousness, the trembling and graceless movements—it was all there.

Steve pulled back, leaving only a few scant inches of space between them, and watched for Loki's reaction. "Still with me?"

Loki responded by reaching for the buttons on Steve's shirt.

Their next kiss was searing, bruising, necessary. Steve pushed Loki's jacket off of his shoulders and struggled to get it down his arms. As he slid the cool silk of Loki's necktie from its knot, Steve felt Loki's fingers pulling his shirt free from his pants.

Together, they staggered clumsily away from the bar, stools scraping across the floor, one toppling to the ground altogether. Lost in each other, neither of them noticed or cared.

Afterward, when their bodies were wrung out but pleasantly exhausted, they found themselves collapsed on the rug on the living room floor. Steve was flat on his back with Loki's head resting on his shoulder, the tip of his nose cold against the heat of Steve's throat. Both of them were covered in tiny marks from overly eager fingers and mouths.

As Steve traced a path up and down the length of Loki's spine, he wondered what his birthday wish had been. "Stay with me tonight."

Loki shifted but didn't reply. His sigh washed over Steve's neck in a rush and then nothing followed for some time. He was holding his breath. His muscles tensed beneath Steve's fingers.

It wasn't uncommon for Loki to sneak away during the night, and Steve still had no idea where he went. He worried that Loki was without a permanent home and didn't like the idea of him being alone.

"Please." Steve turned his head to drop a kiss on Loki's hairline. "I don't want you to leave. Besides, it's your birthday."

It took a disconcerting length of time, but eventually, he felt Loki's breath again tickle his neck. Slowly, the tension began to leak out of the muscles of Loki's back under the soothing pressure of Steve's palm.

"Are we to sleep on the floor?" Loki murmured.

Steve grinned, because that was Loki's indirect way of saying _yes_. "Give me a minute. I'm comfortable here. Are you?"

"Mmm."

Steve's eyelids drooped, the wine still playing the loveliest tricks on his head. He had told Loki once about his struggles with insomnia—about the bad dreams, the slow descent into the ice, the fear that if he let his eyes close, he might never again wake up.

"I could actually fall asleep here," Steve said. "Thank you for the gift. I think it's working. Happy birthday, Loki."

Loki inhaled Steve's scent and held it in his lungs for a long moment before releasing it. "And you, Captain. Goodnight."

Moments later, Steve fell asleep smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.


	6. Loki & Thor (explicit - slash)

**Summary: **Loki/Thor (Explicit). Loki is fitted with armor for the first time. Thor isn't certain he approves.

**Chapter Notes: **Written in response to zhusanna's request for sex involving Loki's helmet.

**Warning**: Thorki porn with just a _teensy_ bit of roughness.

* * *

Loki hardly recognized the reflection in the mirror. His new formal armor hugged his body like a second skin, the magic infused into it acquainting itself with its new master. Though every part of it was crafted according to his exact specifications, his eyes drifted upward again and again to his helmet, which was by far the centerpiece. He'd asked for horns in tribute to his father and grandfather, for their helmets were both constructed with this defining characteristic. But unlike theirs, Loki's horns curled upward and back, and it gave him a menacing edge.

He met Thor's eyes in the mirror's reflection, hungry for validation that he'd made the right choice. "What do you think?"

Thor took measure of his brother's appearance as he approached. There was something indecipherable in his gaze, as if he wasn't entirely pleased to see Loki in armor at all. "Hard to say. A bit ill-fitting in places."

"That's because it's not finished." Loki smoothed the front of his armor down and tried to imagine what it would look like once it was complete. The edges of the leather and fabric were still frayed and unrefined in places, not yet fully stitched together until he'd undergone this final fitting.

Thor made a skeptical sound in his throat and moved just behind Loki, who could feel his brother's warmth even through the heavy material of his cape. "Some adjustments could be made," Thor said. He placed one hand on Loki's hip, his long fingers curling possessively around the hard jut of bone. His other hand came to rest on Loki's lower stomach, just beneath the place where his breastplate ended and the soft give of fabric began. As his hand drifted purposefully downward, Thor said, "Right around here, I think."

"_Thor_." Loki's hands closed over his brother's as his eyes darted to the open doorway behind them. "What are you … ?"

Thor pressed in, molding Loki's back to his chest as the heat of his mouth worked along his little brother's neck. There was only a narrow space there between the high neckline of the armor and base of the helmet. Without thinking, Loki tilted his head to the left to allow Thor more room to work. Their joined hands slid downward until Thor's palm closed over his brother's cock. Loki's lips parted, his eyelids fluttering shut as he melted against Thor with a moan.

"The fabric could definitely be taken in here," Thor said. The fingertips of his other hand dug into the hollow next to Loki's hipbone. His cock had begun to stir and lengthen, and when Thor noticed it, he smiled against the wet place he'd left on Loki's neck. "Or perhaps not. Seems a respectable enough fit now."

"You are not amusing in the least," Loki said through his teeth. He glanced down at his reflection and saw that his armor was indeed far more constrained in certain places than it was before. "The door is wide open. Someone will _see_."

As Thor continued to rub his brother through his pants, he pushed his own erection against the tight curve of Loki's ass. "Mmm, and yet if I don't help you find release, the head tailor will no doubt notice your arousal when he arrives. Quite a dilemma you've found yourself in."

"If you make me stain my armor before it's even finished, I swear upon my—" Loki broke off, and his mouth stretched wide.

Thor's fingers had slipped between the unstitched seams of the fabric to run along the velvet soft skin of Loki's cock. "It's hardly my fault that you've neglected to wear proper undergarments. What luck that they've left your armor so unfinished. You'll need to learn how to remove it quickly. You never know when the urgent need might present itself." He chuckled as he unfastened hidden places on Loki's armor that would allow him to tug the pants down. "Perhaps a bit of practice is in order."

Loki's breath rushed out. He made a gesture toward the door, which instantly slammed shut and locked at his bidding. "I _hate_ you."

"If you don't like it, then tell me to stop." Thor pushed the fabric down to Loki's thighs, allowing his cock to spring free. "Do not pretend you weren't inviting me to do this, eyeing me so on the journey here."

Loki licked his lips as he felt the cool material of his cape against his bare backside. Thor swept the cape aside and palmed one of the muscled cheeks of Loki's ass. The heat of Thor's hand was like a branding iron. Loki shivered and said, "At least let me take the helmet off."

"No." Thor's other hand closed around his brother's cock. "Leave it on."

"_Why?_"

They began to move. As Thor stroked Loki to full hardness, he fiddled with the fastenings of his own armor. Loki was lost in sensation, helpless against Thor's size and single-mindedness, and had difficulty maintaining his balance. His helmet was designed to be protective but not heavy enough to be a burden or hindrance to his movements. Still, it was impossible to forget it was there. He kept his head angled to one side, mindful of his brother standing behind him. Thor honed in on any bare skin he could find. It was as if he had overpowered Loki in battle and located all the weaknesses in his armor with hardly any effort at all.

"You hate it, don't you?" Loki hissed, eyes closed. "Seeing me demonstrate any kind of power. That's why you're doing this. To put me in my place when I'm at my strongest."

"I'm doing this because I see something I want." Thor pushed two fingers into his brother's mouth, effectively putting an end to the discussion. "It would be in your best interest to get those nice and wet."

Loki couldn't help but moan as he worked his tongue over the thickness of Thor's fingers. This was hardly the first time they'd done this, but the thrill of it had not diminished in the least. His stomach muscles were tensed and straining against the slow build of pleasure in his abdomen. Thor stroked his brother's cock slowly, enough to make Loki ready to beg for release. Everywhere Thor touched him was like a kiss of flame on his skin.

Once Thor was pleased with his little brother's attention to his fingers, he pushed Loki forward until his hands had to reach out to catch himself. His fingers smudged the full-length wall mirror, and he opened his eyes to stare at his own startled reflection. Color burned on his cheeks, and his lips strained open wordlessly. Thor loomed enormous and daunting just behind.

At the first touch of fingers against the tight pucker of his ass, Loki's labored breaths began to fog up the mirror. He winced when Thor penetrated him, though minimal effort was required.

"Mmm," Thor said as he slicked up his brother's entrance with the saliva from his fingers. "You're still opened up from last night. I should do this more often, to keep you ready for me."

Loki groaned, halfway between a request to stop and a plea for more. His fingers trembled on the glass, dragging shaky paths through the condensation.

At the door came a knock; the head tailor had come to finish Loki's fitting. Of course, the wretched man would wait to show up at the precise moment Thor had located Loki's sweet spot. A long string of curses spilled from his mouth. He was absolutely lost—undone, putty in Thor's demanding hands, unable to do anything but hold on.

"A few minutes, if you please," Thor called over his shoulder. "My brother has fallen suddenly ill." With a grin, he returned his attention to more important matters. His fingers hooked and rubbed another collection of expletives out of his brother.

"Should I call for a healer?" the tailor shouted through the door. "He sounds very ill indeed."

"Fuck," Loki gasped. "_Fuck_ …" His helmet clanked against the mirror; sweat beaded on his forehead.

"No need," Thor called back as he worked at his brother's cock. "I have matters well in hand. Return in half an hour, if you please."

_Half an hour?_ Loki thought, dazed by the idea.

He tensed as Thor's fingers pulled out of him but began to pant when he felt the push of a cock against his entrance instead. Panic gripped him as it always did at this moment, for Thor was quite impressive in size and girth. It never seemed possible that Loki would be able to stretch to accommodate him. He grit his teeth as his brother began to apply pressure.

"Relax," Thor said, his tone gentler as he rocked his hips. He smoothed a hand over the small of Loki's back. "Open up for me. You know I will be gentle."

The warmth of Thor's voice was enough to inspire Loki's muscles to release any tension on their own. When the head of Thor's cock penetrated the tight ring of muscle, all thought and reason fled from Loki's mind. "_Oh …_" he breathed out.

Thor's manner had shifted into something sweeter than before. Though he was no longer attending to Loki's pleasure, he nuzzled his brother and hugged him from behind as he moved in shallow thrusts, the movement fluid and unforceful. He pushed Loki's cape aside yet again to keep it out of their way.

"Hold onto me," Thor said, sinking ever deeper with each passing moment. He pulled on one of the horns of Loki's helmet, forcing his head back and to the left. The pale expanse of his throat was exposed, and Thor released the helmet to enclose the warm skin in his hand. He applied only enough pressure to remind Loki it was there and did not seek to choke him.

Loki was no longer able to balance his weight against the mirror. His hands fell away, and he instead reached his right arm back to wrap around Thor's neck. If not for the strength of his brother's arms, Loki might have simply wilted to the floor. He swallowed, his throat working against Thor's palm.

"Touch yourself," Thor said, eyes fixed on the mirror. "I want to watch."

Though Loki heard the command, he was already so far gone that it took him time to react to it. His fingers closed around his erection, but he struggled to focus on anything except for the cock slowly nudging deeper and deeper inside of him. He felt like he'd been cracked open ever so carefully—like his brother had slipped beneath his skin until they were one.

Eventually, he caught Thor's rhythm, which was slowly picking up speed. Loki tugged at his cock in time with his brother's thrusts.

Thor made a rough sound of approval deep in his throat and began to move quicker. He mouthed the edge of Loki's helmet. "I want you to remember, brother," Thor said, his breath hot against Loki's neck. "You are strong but not invincible." He moved his hips faster, pounding into Loki so hard now that his muscles quivered and tensed with each stroke.

The movement sent Loki off balance again. His arm pulled away from Thor's neck, and Loki's hands hit the mirror a moment later to catch himself. The glass cracked under the pressure. "Thor, _please_."

"Say it," Thor ordered.

Loki let out a cry of frustration. "You're stronger than me! You've overpowered your younger brother. Congratulations, Thor. Is that what you want to hear?"

"That's not what I asked for," Thor growled, his voice rising with anger.

He readjusted their position, seizing Loki's arms and twisting them behind his back. He held them there with one hand and took hold of Loki's cock with the other. As Thor continued to pound his brother from behind, the crack in the mirror spread a bit wider when Loki's helmet pressed firmly against it.

"_Say it_."

"I'm not invincible!" Loki gasped. And then he was lost. His release spattered onto the glass, as well as Thor's hand.

"No," Thor said, patiently nursing him through it. "You're not."

Loki's legs gave way not long after that, and Thor held him up until every last drop was coaxed from his cock. Eventually, he guided Loki down to the floor and onto his knees. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up on his arms or elbows and instead simply laid there with his cheek resting against the ground, fingers relaxed and curled beside his face. He smiled sleepily.

Thor's demeanor had become tender again. "You have grown powerful in ways I don't always understand," he said as he tucked an errant lock of raven black hair back into Loki's helmet. "But you mustn't let it inflate your head. That is when the mighty often fall. Do you understand?"

Loki stirred, having dozed off for a moment. "Hmm?"

With an affectionate chuckle, Thor straightened and set about seeing to his own pleasure. He took nearly every minute of their allotted half hour, enjoying the sight and feel of his brother so open and relaxed beneath him. When he finally found his release, he pounded it deep inside of Loki and then grew still. Eventually, Thor lowered himself down on top of his brother, their bodies still connected, and mouthed kisses against Loki's sleepy smile.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Thor murmured, giving Loki's bottom a playful slap, "and hope your tailor doesn't notice."

* * *

"Some extra gold for the damages." Thor tossed the tailor a small purse of coins.

The tailor blinked down at the purse and then at the cracked and smudged mirror on the wall—not to mention the places where Loki's armor had stretched and come unstitched. The gold was more than adequate compensation to replace the mirror, but the tailor couldn't seem to understand exactly what manner of illness had betaken the young prince. "Are you quite recovered, Prince Loki?" he asked. "You must have fallen quite ill indeed."

"I thank you, yes," Loki said, cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the floor. He winced as he stood. "May we get on with the fitting?"

"Yes, yes—of course."

Over the next hour, Thor oversaw every measurement and adjustment of his brother's armor. He pointed out imperfections and waited impatiently as they were corrected. Even after the tailor announced his work was at long last complete, Thor only frowned at Loki's reflection in the mirror.

"Do you not yet approve of the fit, my prince?" the tailor asked with a little shake in his voice.

"Go over it again," Thor ordered quietly. "It's good. In truth, I've never seen its equal. But it's still not perfect. All who look upon my brother should tremble under the weight of his shadow."

The tailor was certainly trembling, but he nodded and again went to work.

When Loki met his brother's eyes in the mirror, Thor smiled ever so slightly back. _All will tremble save one_, he seemed to say.


	7. Loki & Natasha

**Summary:** As it turned out, locking Natasha up in a pair of handcuffs in no way prevented her from putting Loki in a rear naked chokehold.

**Notes:** A ~3.8k word one-shot, written as a belated birthday present for the lovely sigyndenning. You are such a gem of a person—always encouraging and kind—and I'm so glad to have met you! Have some naughty Blackfrost on me. :)

* * *

**Fisticuffs**

As it turned out, locking Natasha up in a pair of handcuffs in no way prevented her from putting Loki in a rear naked chokehold.

"Where's the goddamn key, Loki?" she demanded. Chains jingled at her wrists, the sound tinny and unfamiliar. These were no ordinary handcuffs, for there would be little point in that. Natasha would have already found a way to escape were she able to dip into her normal bag of tricks.

Which, of course, was precisely why Loki had put them on her in the first place.

"Key?" he rasped—then laughed breathlessly. "A key for what?"

She simultaneously pushed forward on the back of his head and tightened the death-grip she had on his windpipe.

"Oh, _that_ _key_," Loki wheezed. His legs kicked helplessly at the ground. "I don't believe I have one of those."

Natasha switched tactics and yanked his head back, her fingers gripping a fistful of his hair and twisting hard. Her breath was hot against his exposed neck as she said, "Wrong answer."

Loki gasped, a sound lost somewhere between pleasure and pain. "And yet it remains the only one in my possession."

He managed to roll over onto his hands and knees, thus taking her with him. Though the little spider was strong for a Midgardian, he supposed he could pry her off of him easily enough—but that was hardly fun. Natasha growled in frustration and released him, either having realized she was barely hurting him or perhaps that he was enjoying the struggle.

Loki paused to indulge in another moment of quiet laughter, and that was all Natasha needed to regroup and strike. She kicked his arm out from underneath him and pushed him over so that he was lying on the bedroom floor on his back. After stepping on his right hand with her bare foot, she lowered her weight down until her knee was pressed into his throat.

And oh, she was a thing of beauty—panting and furious, muscles coiled tight and etched with shadows. Her hair was mussed from their scuffle but also from her slumber, which Loki had awakened her from. He wondered if she always slept with a handgun hidden beneath her pillow.

She released the safety and pressed the cool barrel of the gun between Loki's eyebrows. "Care to change your answer?"

"If you would but let me explain," Loki said with his most winning smile.

"You snuck into my apartment and handcuffed me in my sleep," Natasha said. The strap of her tank top slipped off her freckled shoulder. "Sure, you can explain. You should start with the part where you thought this wouldn't end with you featuring as a stain on my carpet."

Loki tried to swallow and failed, a feat made impossible by the lovely curve of Natasha's knee forcing his Adam's apple into places it was not meant to go. Realizing she was far angrier than he'd anticipated—he could tell because her voice had gone dead calm—he lifted his free hand in surrender. "Those restraints were specifically designed with you in mind—and not by me. There is no key, for they're not meant to be removable. At least, not by any method you would be familiar with. However, I might have uncovered a weakness in their design. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Would _you_ like me to put a bullet in your brain? I doubt it will penetrate far enough to kill you, what with your skin being as thick as it is—literally, that is; not figuratively—though somehow the idea of you living through the experience makes it even better. I'm not in the mood to play games, Loki. SHIELD puts up with you because you've proven to be a useful informant. _I_ put up with you because up until now, you haven't done anything to piss me off."

Loki's eyebrows pulled together skeptically. "Really? That only just happened? Well, that's disappointing."

"Tell me how to get these things off, or I swear to god—"

He interrupted her with a chuckle, which he knew she would feel more than hear. "No need to swear to me, little spider. I'm right here, listening to every word. You'll need to lower your weapon if you want me to show you how to remove the bindings. It's not simple by any stretch of the imagination, but I have the utmost confidence in your, um." His smile widened. "Learning agility."

She smiled back, poisonously sweet. "You really do have a death wish, don't you? Talk."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. If you want my help, you'll need to put down your weap—"

Natasha repositioned the gun over his left eye. "_Talk_."

"So violent," Loki said, barely resisting the urge to squirm. "How I _do_ like you. Those bindings were crafted by a sorcerer and possess no mechanical lock. You'll have to use magic to remove them."

Her gaze reluctantly fell to the handcuffs. They were made of dull metal, not unlike unpolished copper. The circlets around her wrists had no beginning or ending and were thick enough to make breaking them with physical strength impossible. "And you're still going to try to convince me you didn't make them?"

"They were commissioned by an unknown entity residing in your mother country. Victor von Doom aided in their design, which is how I uncovered their existence. Someone out there paid a handsome price to make sure you wouldn't be able to slip away. Those are but one pair I managed to steal, but there are others. Do I have your attention yet, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha had stopped breathing right around the time Loki mentioned Russia. "Fine. What do I do first?"

* * *

After three long hours of instruction, Natasha still hadn't made any progress on her escape from the handcuffs. She sat on the couch, posture rigid with her gun resting on her thigh, while Loki paced the length of the living room and chewed on his thumbnail. His growing impatience was evident in every step. Wisely, he kept his distance from her, but that didn't prevent Natasha from monitoring his movements in her periphery.

"You're not concentrating," Loki said. "Stop paying attention to what I'm doing. I pose no danger to you."

"Said the boot to the spider," Natasha muttered as she held the chain up to the light.

"Look, if you can't figure this out, the only other option is to go into hiding or perhaps identify and infiltrate those threatening you. Wait it out in the dark and strike when they're least expecting it."

Natasha's gaze met his, dangerous and slow. "Said the spider to the boot."

"Ah." Loki laughed. "You're still angry with me, I see. No wonder you're having difficulty focusing. In case you've failed to notice, I'm trying to help you here."

"Saving me from a problem you created doesn't make you a hero," Natasha said. "It makes you pitiable."

When Loki stopped pacing and turned, the deepness of the shadows cut his face in half. "You know, the last time we met, I like to think we actually shared something of a connection. You looked and spoke to me far differently than you are now. There was even a moment where you said you'd witnessed a change in me. Was all that an act, performed for my benefit to keep me in line?"

Her expression didn't alter in the slightest. "Throwing guilt at me isn't going to work. Loki, I get that you're hungry for attention, but this isn't how you earn it. I _have_ seen you change and felt so proud of you when you did because I know how difficult it is. What I said to you wasn't an act. But this?" She lifted her bound wrists. "This makes me wonder if I was wrong."

Loki tilted his head to one side, drawing more of his features into the light. "Did I hurt you? It was not my intention to—"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Natasha lowered her hands. "You do not come into my home uninvited, and you most certainly stay out of my bedroom. Friends don't back each other into corners and then expect appreciation when they finally move out of the way."

"I meant no disrespect. I was only attempting to give you a fighting chance should you—"

"I don't _care_, Loki," Natasha said. "I don't like being treated like this. Doesn't that bother you at all? If you can't see that and fix it, then we're done here."

Loki's eyes lingered on her face before falling to the ground in contemplation. He still didn't understand her reaction, for he knew what his intentions had been from the beginning—but perhaps that wasn't the point. She was angry and uncomfortable, and he found he didn't like that at all. Had anyone else made her feel that way . . . .

When Loki covered the distance between them in three long strides, Natasha tensed up and grabbed her weapon. She kept it pointed at the ceiling while he knelt before the couch with his hands lifted in a gesture of submission. He watched her face carefully as he wrapped his long fingers around both of her wrists.

"Do you feel that?" Loki asked. "That's your seiðr responding to mine. Concentrate on the way it fills you up and sets your very atoms to dancing. That's what you're looking for. The bindings will respond to any rush of adrenaline and confine you all the tighter—but you have magic inside of you, Natasha. It's all around you. In the air. In your breath. I taste it in your every word, disarming me and slipping into places I never invited you to tread. I don't see your invasion of my mind as kindness or gentleness. Likewise, I am not kind or gentle—but you are the first person in a very long time that has made me want to act contrary to my nature. You must forgive me if at times I forget our relationship is not as intimate as the way you make me feel."

Natasha gasped as the bindings popped open, one cuff at a time, and dropped heavy onto her lap. She glanced down at them briefly and readjusted her grip on her gun.

Loki released one of her wrists and touched her hair to encourage her to look at him. "It won't happen again," he said when she met his gaze. "I promise."

"Get out of my apartment," Natasha whispered, tears shining in her eyes.

* * *

The remainder of the autumn passed without incident. Natasha saw Loki exactly three times in the span of seven weeks, and though she remained on edge in his presence—willing to forgive but not to forget—he was respectful and kept both his distance and his promise.

She didn't allow herself to smile anymore when they talked but wasn't hostile with him either. Paying Loki any kind of attention, be it negative or positive, was something to be avoided. He was an informant, and SHIELD had benefited greatly in the past from his leads. She kept their dealings professional and detached, realizing all the while that it must be driving him crazy.

It must torment him, knowing he'd made a promise not to act out to secure her attention when that was the very thing she was withholding from him. Which, Natasha had to admit, was pretty damn satisfying.

"And how is your magic coming along?" Loki asked her one night, just as she was departing from their meeting place. "I would be happy to provide additional instruction, should you request my assistance."

Impressive. A polite, respectful request for an invitation rather than a rude awakening in the middle of the night.

Natasha spun around as she was leaving but kept walking backwards, away from him. "I'm doing all right on my own. But thanks for the offer."

It was a bit of an overstatement to say she was "doing all right" with her magic, but if Loki knew what was good for him, he would have no idea she was lying.

She worked the problem nightly, spending hours in the dark with the blinds securely shut to make sure no prying eyes saw her with handcuffs she wasn't supposed to have. She was careful not to put them on, for she hadn't yet mastered the technique of getting out of them on her own. It was too dangerous to try. Not until she was sure she could manage it herself without having to call upon a certain ex-supervillain to come to her aid.

The cuffs were infuriating—a slap in the face of every trick and escape technique she'd ever learned, which was exactly the kind of thing she would expect from the people she feared had called for their creation.

But sometimes when she held them and closed her eyes, she felt them warm in her hands like they were just another part of her. During these quiet moments, she often found herself remembering the feel of Loki's fingers folding ever so slowly around her wrists, giving her every opportunity to protest before he captured both her and her attention.

Then came the memory of his voice, telling her he could taste her magic in the air when she spoke.

"Would you open already?" Natasha said to the handcuffs. "I'm hungry and need a bath."

The cuffs popped open at her command and awaited further instruction. She smiled—then fastened them to her wrists and snapped them shut again.

By sunrise, she'd reduced her escape time to thirty seconds.

* * *

When they finally came for her, Natasha was embarrassingly caught off guard.

She had just completed a successful mission in Prague and was feeling a bit more confident than she probably should. It was for this reason—and perhaps the three glasses of wine she indulged in at dinner—that she didn't notice when the hotel doorman put his hand to his ear after closing Natasha into the backseat of a private car.

On the way to the airport, an unseen sniper took out her driver just as they were entering a tunnel at high speed. The resulting car accident left Natasha with a fractured arm, a grade two concussion, and a feeble hold on consciousness.

Still, when three men armed with submachine guns of Russian make pulled her from the burning wreckage of the car, Natasha found her bloodied lips curling into a smile.

They twisted her arms behind her back and secured them at the wrists with a very familiar set of handcuffs.

* * *

On the jet ride back to D.C., Natasha was quiet.

Due to the concussion, she was forbidden from piloting the aircraft herself. Instead, she sat in the back and stared through a window at the sun rising over the Atlantic. Fury called her mid-flight to ask why he had agents in Prague reporting that she'd refused pain medication for her injuries before boarding the flight home.

"Nothing I can't handle," Natasha said. "I want to stay sharp."

"Any idea who those men were?" Fury asked. "What they wanted with you?"

She shrugged one shoulder and ignored the way the movement sent a pulse of pain down her arm. "Hardly matters now. They were beyond the ability to speak by the time I thought to ask."

Natasha didn't make it back to her apartment until well after midnight. Once the jet landed in D.C., there were further medical examinations to endure, along with another round of questions from Fury. But at long last, she was allowed to escape SHIELD headquarters and spent the drive home dreaming about the bottle of chardonnay she had chilling in the refrigerator.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to see a tall, lean shadow waiting beside her apartment door, but that didn't stop her heart from pounding when passing headlights lit up Loki's face. He was dressed in one of his many suits, and his eyes glittered with barely-contained rage.

"It's all right," Natasha told her driver, who had immediately reached for his weapon. "I know him."

The agent behind the wheel looked at her like she was crazy. "So do I. Hence my reaction."

She smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "Thanks for the ride."

When Natasha exited the vehicle, Loki stepped out of the shadows. She didn't pay him any mind as he took in her injuries, nor did she say anything to him when he loomed over her shoulder and watched her unlock the front door. He was angry, yes, but apparently on her behalf rather than with her directly. The weight of his shadow was enough to make her breath quicken, but she was careful not to let him know that.

Once she had the front door open, Natasha immediately kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot into the apartment. She dropped her bag and shoes in the middle of the living room, not caring where they landed, and went straight for the kitchen.

Loki, however, didn't budge. She caught his reflection in the glass of a cabinet door. He was leaning against the frame of the front entrance but had not yet crossed the threshold. His features bore a warm, golden glow from the kitchen light.

"Natasha," he said, almost too soft to be heard.

Something akin to a smile touched her lips. She pulled out a single wine glass and set it on the counter. "In case you're confused," she said over her shoulder, "leaving that open was my way of inviting you in."

It took him a minute, as if he wasn't fully convinced of her sincerity, but Natasha eventually heard the front door close. After a brief hesitation, she retrieved a second wine glass and set it down on the counter beside its mate.

"Don't touch me," she said quietly.

She turned in time to see Loki lowering his hand and wondered briefly what he had intended to do. In the end, all that really mattered to her was that he hadn't.

"I take it you solved the mystery of the bindings with no lock," Loki said. "Unsurprising."

Natasha both hated and loved the way the sound of his voice made her feel. Like she was being threatened and caressed at the same time. "I'm still pissed off at you. Don't think this changes that."

She reached with her uninjured arm to cup his cheek, wondering just how many layers he had beneath his skin. As her thumb dragged a slow path across his lower lip, Loki let out a breath and dipped his head down, hands reaching for her waist.

"Don't," she warned, jerking back, "touch me."

Loki obeyed her and placed his hands on the kitchen counter on either side of her waist, not touching her but standing near enough for Natasha to feel his warmth. It was exactly what she needed. She breathed in his scent and moved closer, her fingers sliding through his hair until they were cradling the back of his head. It took very little encouragement to guide his lips in the right direction until they met with her upturned face.

Natasha had envisioned kissing Loki before. In her imagination, it had always been a heated affair. Clothing ripping at the seams. Nails leaving trails of impatience behind on each other's skin. Broken furniture betraying the path to the bedroom.

But this—this quiet moment of intimacy—was so surprisingly gentle that Natasha felt her heart surrender to a deep ache of longing. She caressed his face as she kissed him, indulging first in his lower lip then dropping the softest whisper of a kiss on the top.

Loki didn't move as she worked but kept his lips parted and soft, open to her advances. He watched her with a look of absolute adoration, and his eyes only closed briefly when the sensations overcame him. Even now, towering over her, a thousand times stronger than she could ever hope to be, Loki was Natasha's slave. But just because she was a firm master with unbending rules didn't mean she wouldn't reward obedience with kindness. He seemed so starved for it, after all.

Natasha eventually lowered herself down from her tippy toes and hugged Loki around the middle, pressing her ear to his heartbeat. "Thank you," she whispered.

However, she promptly followed this tender moment up with a "Don't touch me" reminder when Loki pulled his hands away from the counter in order to hold her back.

He chuckled and said, "As you wish."

"I have something for you."

After pouring them both a glass of chilled wine, she took Loki by the hand and led him into the living room. He sat on the couch and watched with a vaguely puzzled smile as she carried her bag over and sat on the ground on the other side of the coffee table. No need to encourage him too much, particularly when he probably wouldn't like what he was about to see.

When Natasha held up a pair of handcuffs she'd stolen from SHIELD headquarters, the smile melted away from Loki's face. His eyes wavered with a sudden vulnerability. They were the same rune-encrusted manacles used on him after the Battle of New York.

"Agent Romanoff?" he asked.

"Recognize them?" Natasha said. "Your brother gave a few of these to SHIELD in case they were ever needed. I hear they're pretty impossible to escape for a sorcerer. They dampen your ability to use your magic, right? But." She paused to smile. "They still have a locking mechanism that I've spent some time studying over the last few weeks, and I might have located a weakness in the design. That is, if you're looking for a teacher."

Loki appeared somewhat stunned, though he really shouldn't be. Natasha always repaid her debts.

"Loki," she said. "You don't have to be a villain in order to get my attention."

He watched her for a moment in silence and then leaned forward to place his wine glass on the table. As he extended his wrists obediently, he said, "I'm listening. Where do we begin?"


	8. Loki & Frigga (gen)

Summary – Loki &amp; Frigga (Gen). Loki finds strength in his mother's memory.

Chapter Notes – Written for a request to see how Loki survived Kurse's attack in The Dark World.

* * *

It was a slow awakening, like daylight warming the horizon, coaxing it from gentle purple to soft, radiant gold. First came the light, reluctantly followed by an awareness of self. Loki's mind sparked into existence, and through the retreating numbness, he felt the sweetest stirring of fingers in his hair.

Soon, his other senses began to rouse, and the scent of gardenias tickled his nose—achingly familiar, a whisper of a memory that further awakened his clouded mind. His head felt heavy with weariness yet was soothed by the pillow it rested upon, cool silk overlaying the steadfast support of flesh and bone.

The sensations were welcome but confusing.

He was dead, after all.

"Mother," Loki whispered without opening his eyes, knowing she was there and taking care of him. "I'm sorry."

Exhaling those words spent the remaining oxygen in his lungs, and when he breathed in again, he became aware of a sharp pain centered in his chest and burrowing deep into his back. His brow creased as he remembered an already bloodstained blade splitting him in two.

As Frigga's fingers moved from Loki's hair to stroke the tension away from his forehead, he opened his eyes to stare up at her. Her lap was the pillow beneath his head, and wherever she touched him was blissfully free from pain.

The sight of her was just as beautiful as it was bewildering. Her hair seemed spun from pure gold, falling into liquid pools of light on the ground, and her skin held a subtle glow as if she was lit with fire from within. Everything that had once made her mortal had burned away—for of course, Frigga was dead as well. She had gone before him, killed by the same blade that took Loki's life. Now she was seemingly here to welcome him into the afterlife.

The space around Frigga was hazy and obscure, fading away into complete blindness where not even darkness existed. His mother's light was the only thing illuminating him, and it gave Loki substance and awareness in this place of nothingness. Beyond her gaze was death.

"I'm sorry," Loki said again, stronger this time, as if to reach out to her physically with his words. "I'm sorry."

Though he didn't specify exactly what the apology was in reference to, the naked vulnerability in his eyes said enough. Thor had understood as Loki lay dying in his arms. Surely Frigga, who knew Loki better than anyone, would understand as well. He had never meant for his actions to lead to her death.

She smiled in her ageless kind of way, and it warmed Loki from within. Her fingertips journeyed down his cheek as she said, "There you are. I knew you could not be lost to us forever."

The pain in his chest deepened, and Loki began to shake from it as he tried to make sense of her words. "Am I not dead?"

Surely he would not be in such growing agony if he were beyond feeling it. At this realization, Loki felt all sense of calm abandon him. He began to panic, his eyes blurring with sudden tears as he became aware of his own heartbeat, which was struggling to keep steady time.

Frigga's other hand moved to the wound on Loki's chest, but the pain faded only a little, resisting her touch. The ache there ran deep. Not a mere physical wound but something pitted down into the very soul of him.

"Shhh," she said. "Be still, my love. Your body is on the brink, caught between life and death, though that is not what I meant when I said you were no longer lost. It would appear there is a choice before you. Or at least, the illusion of one."

"What?" Loki gasped.

But even as he asked for clarification, his mind shut itself off from accepting it. He feared the meaning behind her words, for an illusion of a choice implied there was really no choice at all. This was among his greatest fears, this helplessness against a higher power. Something had dragged him back from death and was keeping him here, bound by confusion and pain—and he knew it wasn't his mother. She was only here to help him through it.

But why was he waking? He had sacrificed his own safety to help his brother. He could have turned away from the sight of Kurse beating Thor into the ground and walked away _free_. He had made a choice and earned this noble death.

"I know you did," Frigga said, answering his thoughts as if he'd spoken them out loud. "And I am so proud of you for making that sacrifice."

Loki began to shake his head in denial because he knew what she would say next. He wanted to stay here in the comfort of her light or else return to death.

"If you do not go back," Frigga said, "your brother is soon to follow."

Loki's throat was so tight with emotion that when he tried to swallow, he failed and nearly choked instead. He wanted to tell her how selfish he was. That he only saved Thor from Kurse so that Loki could be the one to savor killing them both. But he was so very tired—far too weary to lie to himself or to her.

How he wished she would lie to him instead. Though he'd never allowed himself to admit it before, Frigga's deceit was always so much sweeter than the truth.

"You know all too well there are dark days to come," Frigga said. "Your brother needs you. He has always needed you. When you oppose him, it makes him stronger. In fighting to bring about the end, you will ensure he is strong enough to withstand what is to come."

This made Loki laugh, though the sound of it was more like weeping. "I am naught but a tool, then. The grinding stone upon which to sharpen Thor into something useful."

Loki said the words only so that she could refute them.

_Lie to me_, he begged her silently. _Please._

"There is no need for me to lie," Frigga said. "Though you harden your heart from accepting it, you know very well you are more than a tool to those that love you. Do not forget that we are all slaves to our fate—even Thor. You, my little trickster, will bring about the end of everything." Her lips twitched into an adoring smile. "Does that fate not please you?"

Though her tone was teasing, Loki sensed a horrible thrum of truth behind what she said. "You tell me to go back to help him, but also that I will bring about the end. What am I to make of that?"

Frigga's eyebrows lifted. "Endings are followed by rebirth. You might be surprised what endures when all is said and done."

Her cryptic reply agitated Loki. "This is an impossible task. It binds me to places I do not wish to tread." Tears leaked from the outer corners of his eyes. His next statement, he said in a whisper, for he had never dared admit such things out loud. "I want to die."

Again, he was attempting to provoke her into offering him some kind of reassurance, but she only continued to smile serenely down at him. She had already won the argument. There was no need for her to say more, for she had only to mention Thor's name to remind Loki why he had to go back. Not that he had a choice in the matter when he had only been gifted with the illusion of one.

Something broke inside of him, and he turned to weep quietly with his face pressed into the comfort of his mother's thigh. She indulged him for some time, her fingers moving rhythmically through his hair—but eventually, he could barely feel her warmth anymore and knew their time was running out. "I will see him through to the end," he said at last, though each word inspired a new kind of fear.

"I know you will," Frigga said gently. He could no longer feel her touch. Even her voice seemed to be fading away.

Loki looked up at her through his wet eyelashes. "Are you even here, or am I simply imagining you to comfort myself?"

"Oh, Loki." Frigga looked suddenly younger—radiant, gentle, perfect. The way she always appeared to him when he was a child. A snapshot of a memory. "You know very well your mother could never say anything this cruel to you. Even if she knew it to be true, she would have lied to you out of kindness."

* * *

When Loki regained consciousness, his body was on fire with pain. His teeth throbbed. Lungs burned. Every cell demanded relief, but there was none to be found. Nothing to do but listen to his mind as it screamed.

It was some time before he was willing to open his eyes and face the fact that he had been denied death yet again. When he did, he practically had to pry his eyelids apart, for they were encrusted with tears and sand. A storm howled in the distance, but he barely heard it over his own gasping breaths.

Svartalfheim was a smear of dust across his vision, the air acrid and gritty in his throat. His mouth bore the metallic taste of blood, and sand crunched in his teeth. He spat and rolled onto his side, in too much anguish to even manage a whimper.

It was then that he understood he was alone, abandoned here to rot. By his brother, no less. Though it hurt like the blazes, the realization made Loki laugh. Thor continued to be full of surprises.

_There_, Loki thought with a strained smile, his chest still shaking with laughter. _That is precisely what I need. My thanks, dearest brother._

He could not truly oppose Thor out of love and make a convincing show of it, so he let the anger over this new transgression fuel his resolve. But instead of permitting it to burn out of control—(he had long since learned his lesson about that)—he focused his rage into something more refined.

Loki became very calm. There was no need to smile anymore, for he had mastered his anger into a perfect mimicry of amusement. Pure composure radiated from him. This was how it had to be. Nothing could touch him here. He could almost convince himself that he wasn't terrified.

It was only then that he sat up and wiped the dust from his shoulders and hands. He got to his feet as if he'd never experienced a moment of pain in his life and looked to the sky, where the realms threatened to converge overhead. Thor would win this fight, of course. He had plenty of motivation to ensure that—but would he win the next battle or the one after that? What would happen when Thanos began to move in earnest? Thor had no idea that someone out there was very strategically planning his demise.

Loki hated his brother—but no more than he loved him. They needed each other, even if they had no choice in the matter.

There were events to set in motion. Game pieces to put in place. And so Loki closed his eyes and directed his mind to deciding how he might better shape Thor into the kind of hero Loki would never be.


	9. Loki & Sif (gen)

**Summary** \- Loki and Sif (Gen). Loki struggles with suicidal feelings.

**Chapter Notes** \- Bargaining Universe – but can be read without it in mind. Takes place a few months after the final chapter.

Written for someone who requested a drabble about suicidal thoughts, so please take warning from that if it's triggering.

* * *

The sound of water striking the rocks below elicits both feelings of comfort and terror in Loki. He sits in the shadows of an apple tree in his mother's garden and stares without seeing, hypnotized by the possibilities.

There is the fall to consider, of course, to say nothing of the impact. If he is lucky, death will claim him quickly, but there is no promise of that. More likely, he will either drown in the churning water below or in his own blood when broken bones puncture his lungs.

_Why must death be a process?_ Loki wonders.

He wants simply to close his eyes, breathe his last, and be done. How fortunate that pain is a curse only the living must bear.

But moments like these are but a fantasy he holds in his heart—a place he goes to dream about escaping his self-hatred and the suffocating guilt of all the misery he's caused. He has no plans to actually take his own life, for he has already learned this lesson. What have the past few years taught him if not that seeking to destroy himself hurts those he loves?

He will not do that to his brother.

But on nights like this, in the wake of an argument with Thor that has left Loki feeling like an utter disappointment, sometimes he wants to.

Thor's love feels very far away, like it never existed. It's difficult to remember why Loki should not seek to end things when he feels it will solve everyone else's problems, along with his own.

He knows he won't do it. But wishes it was easier to remember why he shouldn't.

The sound of approaching footfalls in the grass distracts him from these thoughts, and he tenses in anticipation of the interruption.

"Loki," Sif says.

He opens his eyes and glares, already knowing what she means to say.

She is dressed for dinner, and though her cheeks are flushed from the fire in the Great Hall, she has neglected to protect her arms from the cold. She casts a glance over her shoulder at the edge of the gardens, where only a short wall offers protection from the sharp drop-off below.

It is not the first time Loki has sat in this very same place, contemplating such things. And not the first time Sif has found him here.

"Go away," Loki says and closes his eyes.

Not that shutting her out has ever helped. She kicks his boot once. Twice.

Loki sighs. "Is there something I can do for you, my lady? Point out the path leading back to the palace, perhaps?"

"You were not at dinner."

"How I do love when you declare what I already know as if it were some grand revelation. Would you also like to point out that I'm sitting beneath a tree?"

"Thor says you had a disagreement."

"_Ooh_, that's another good one. Sufficiently obvious in nature." Loki's eyes open again, but he can't seem to raise them past the level of her knees. "My brother and I argue daily. What of it?"

"Loki." She kneels in front of him so that they're eye-level. "You _promised me_. What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Judging from the look on her face, she already knows. He holds her gaze but is barely able to resist the urge to flinch. How exhausting it is to be accountable to such a person. It's not the lack of trust that angers him. It's her inability to allow him to slink into the shadows. Sif drags everything into the light, whether he likes it or not.

But he does not need to hear what she is no doubt ready to say. Though he recognizes she means well, she does not understand what this feels like. There is no possible way for her to comprehend all that is raging in his heart and mind, and he wants very much for her to _leave_.

"I have no intention of harming myself, my lady," Loki says. "I do recall the promise I made for Thor's sake. I swore it to him, in fact."

"Yes, well—you have a talent for making lies sound like promises."

The bluntness of her response is almost enough to make him laugh. If nothing else, it takes his mind away from the darker edges of his thoughts. "And you have a very peculiar way of cheering a person up."

"I'm not trying to cheer you up," Sif says. "It isn't enough, Loki. You say you will not harm yourself for Thor's sake, but what happens when he's gone? What if he were to die in battle? You cannot hinge your reason for living on your brother. It's no wonder an argument with him sent you out here, when your sense of worth is dependent on his approval. It is no different than your relationship was with your father."

Loki is stunned into silence by this. Though he tries to speak several times, the words simply won't come.

Eventually, he manages, "This was a bit more than an argument, Sif."

She shakes her head. "You refuse to hear me." Reaching out to cover his hand with her own, she says, "Thor loves you, regardless of what he says or does, but that is not the point. Loki, do you really hate yourself so much that you cannot find another reason to go on?"

He rests his head back against the tree trunk and stares at her for a long time before answering, wondering all the while if she can handle the truth. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, I hate myself that much."

Her lips part, and as she blinks at him several times in quick succession, Loki wonders why she's so surprised. Perhaps it was one thing to suspect something about a person and another to have them state it as plain fact.

"Don't tell Thor," Loki says. "He will not understand."

There is another long stretch of silence, wherein Sif seems to deflate. Her posture wilts, and when she speaks again, her tone is quieter, more reserved. "Do you remember when we were children? We were both mocked by our peers for much the same reason. Me, because I did not choose the expected path of a woman, and you did not take the normal path of a man."

"Is this meant to make me feel better? If I recall, you took part in deriding me. I might go as far to say you took joy in it."

She lifts an eyebrow. "And you participated in my torment as well. We both took out our frustrations on one another, but those are old wounds we put to rest long ago. I'm not saying this to blame you, but there were times when I thought seeking out an end was the only option left to me."

It is Loki's turn to be surprised. He cannot imagine Sif ever experiencing a moment of doubt in herself or her worth—especially one that might mean the end of her life. She is the epitome of confidence and self-assured boldness. She is everything Loki is _not_.

"It wasn't until I decided to love and accept myself the way I am that those feelings began to relent," she continues. "It isn't simple. In fact, it is one of the most difficult battles I've ever fought, but it is possible. Loki, there is nothing I can say to you that will make this easier. Words of comfort are to be treasured, but the reassurance they provide will ultimately fade. You must find strength within yourself to help you endure when you cannot remember the love given to you by others. What would you say if it were me standing on the edge?"

He narrows his eyes as Sif rises and walks over to the wall. With a leap, she's suddenly on top of it, and the wind rushing up from the water below tosses her hair about her shoulders. She looks wild and not entirely like herself.

Loki gets to his feet at once. "Come down from there. The winds are too strong for this nonsense. You could fall."

Sif shakes her head and ignores the hand he reaches out to her. "Tell me why I should choose to live. I want a reason."

"This is not a joke."

"I agree. It isn't." She puts one foot in front of the other and walks along the length of the wall like a tightrope. "Imagine I'm feeling what you are right now, and I need you to tell me why I should choose life over death. What would you say to me?"

He does not want to imagine such a thing, for he has just spent the last hour picturing his own demise in this manner. Now all he sees is her face in place of his, broken and bleeding on the rocks below, staring without seeing forever and ever, and suddenly he can't stop shaking.

"Please come down," Loki says, softer now. "Sif, you're frightening me."

"I know exactly how you feel," she replies. "Tell me why, Loki."

He licks his lips. If playing her game meant her safety, then so be it. "Thor needs you." His jaw tightens after that, for he does not want to say the rest—to make himself more vulnerable to someone he does not entirely trust with his feelings. "I need you," he adds in a whisper.

"Imagine I'm too upset to care," Sif says. "I agree it's important to remember the impact of my actions on the people I love, but I am _angry_, Loki. Full of rage and blinded by betrayal. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Sif, please. Let's go inside. I will not come out here by myself again, nor will I allow these thoughts to get the better of me in the future. You have my word."

"I don't believe you. In fact, I'm so without hope that I don't believe anyone anymore. Why shouldn't I throw myself down upon the rocks and end it all?" She comes to a standstill with her heels overlapping the edge. Bending down until they're face to face, she says, "Tell me_._"

"Because your life is _irreplaceable_," Loki says, taking hold of her wrist to keep her from tumbling backwards. "It is precious because you are one of a kind. Do you think it easy to find someone as rude and infuriating as you? There are times when I literally envision what it might feel like to shove your face into a horse troth, but I still recognize there is only one Sif. Life is a miracle. You are a living, breathing organism that has somehow materialized out of time and space to have a chance at experiencing consciousness. While it might be true that you have only done so for the sole purpose of _tormenting me_, I can tell you I have made enough mistakes to now know that to squander a life is to destroy the culmination of a lifetime of unique experiences, struggles, and memories. Death means a silenced voice. The end of a miracle. And that is a waste of something beautiful. Whatever you are feeling, it is temporary. Ending your life would be a tragedy, for there is no one who has ever been or ever will be like you."

Sif's face has transformed. The words still hang in the air between them as she comes down from the wall. The moment her feet hit the ground, she has her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Exactly," she whispers, her cheek pressed against his chest. "_Exactly_."


	10. Thor & Loki (slash - explicit)

**Summary** \- Thor has lost his memories. Loki could not be more delighted.

**Author's Notes** – 6k word Thorki one-shot. Explicit. Written as a belated birthday present for the lovely and talented izazov, who requested an Amnesia!Thor fic. It takes place during the first Thor film, when Loki comes to see Thor in the temporary SHIELD facility. Also posted to my tumblr (user name pro-antagonist) with pictures.

* * *

"Who are you?" Thor asks, the timbre hollow, like words spoken into a vacuum. He blinks repeatedly as if to clear away a film from his vision.

Something inside of Loki trembles at the question—a giddy, breathless excitement that borders on fear—for his own brother _does not recognize him_. Had Odin stolen his firstborn's memories before banishing him to Midgard? How unexpectedly fortuitous.

With his searching eyes and the vulnerable set of his mouth, Thor looks strangely lost in the sterile glare of the room—if one could call it that. The ceiling and walls possess little in the way of protection, and the floor is without foundation. The building is as temporary and fleeting as a mortal life.

There are several ways Loki could answer this most peculiar of questions, and so he pauses to reflect upon his choices. In the interest of ruling Asgard unchallenged, he could feign ignorance and simply walk away, but far be it from him to waste such potential. He could tell Thor of their relationship as brothers to win his immediate trust, but not even Loki is able to stomach that lie anymore. There is but one choice left.

Loki parts his lips and says very quietly, like the holiest of prayers, "I am your king."

And then, as the gloom begins to clear from Thor's expression, Loki smiles—for he has just spoken absolute, irrefutable truth.

* * *

Leaving Thor on Midgard is risky. Already, Loki has sensed the potential for dissention in Sif, the Warriors Three, and in Heimdall. Moreover, Mjolnir is positioned nearby, and there is no telling what effect it might have on his brother, should he attempt to touch or see it again.

And so Loki turns his mind to the task of relocating Thor to a more desirable location. One where it is easier to control him. One that not even Heimdall could find. Certainly nowhere in the Nine Realms.

As king, the act of contemplation on a problem is far different than anything he has ever experienced. It is a wondrous thing. Possessing Gungnir has afforded Loki power he has never imagined possible. It electrifies his mind with possibilities, and his dreams are painted with images of architecture, physics, and geometry. It is soon apparent that the All-Father has wasted this potential for centuries upon centuries. He is little more than an old man in possession of power he knows not how to wield. Or perhaps he simply lacks imagination.

In a vacant pocket of space and time, hidden in the void between the fingers of Yggdrasil's branches, Loki forges Gungnir's power with his seiðr and creativity to create a place of solitude and reflection.

It is neither large nor particularly detailed, for Loki is still learning how to be a god.

There is a floor comprised of darkness, a ceiling made of stars, and four walls of glass that glow blue and hum with quiet power. He is pleased with this and thinks perhaps next he will try his hand at creating life—and fill this place with plants, flowers, and fields of grass.

For now, it is a blank cavern of possibilities. The air inside is pleasant but cold, and so Loki crafts a great hearth that glistens wet like black ice. The fire that burns within never goes out and changes color as it flickers in the darkness—soft blues, warm purples, and creeping hues of red. From it, fragrant smoke curls upward and dissipates into nothingness. The warmth it provides is adequate, though not enough to penetrate through the fear and awe the place inspires.

Next, he creates furnishings from the base elements he has learned to conjure. He takes the time to carve, decorate, and polish them until they shine, simply as a demonstration of his newfound power. He illuminates his world with carefully directed starlight, and in the darkest area, fashions the softest of beds from a cloud.

Because he cannot stand the maddening, unending turn of silence, which he can almost see when he lets his vision slide out of focus, he points the tip of Gungnir at the ground. From it flows a stream. It has no source, yet water bubbles up from nowhere at his bidding. The stream's base runs deep, stretching downward into nothing, It winds around the border of the glass palace, where it finally falls and spreads into mist, a slow, silent death as it is lost to the void beyond.

The sound of the rushing water provides a needed touch of warmth and familiarity to the mind. It is a subtle reminder of home . . . and of other things.

When Loki is finished, he stands back to admire his work. It is a palace floating on the edge of nonexistence with no doors and no locks. The result is breathtakingly lovely and more than a little terrifying.

"What is this place?" Thor asks when Loki brings him there.

_Your prison_, Loki replies in his mind, for there is no escape from these walls without him.

"Your home," he says aloud.

Thor's uncertainty fades into a cautious smile of hope. How different he is when he cannot remember his own strength. Softer. Kinder.

Loki brings his prisoner food, drink, and other comforts. He places intricate carpets on the floor that he spins into existence using Gungnir's power. From Asgard, he brings luxurious furs that he lays down thick on the bed. He chooses books meant to evoke certain images and emotions in his brother—as well as suppress the influence of others. He dresses Thor in finery—soft velvets sewn with silk thread and belts and boots made with supple, well-oiled leather. His braided hair shines with health from the fragrant oils he's been gifted with.

Not that Loki wishes for his brother to be comfortable. No, never that.

He has willed this chilling palace into being to teach Thor to fear him—and filled it with delights and wonders in order to incite his gratefulness. There is no mistaking which of the two brothers sustains the other.

Loki wants Thor to worship him.

"You are generous, as always, my king," Thor would say. "Is there any way I can be of service to repay your kindness?"

And _oh_, how Loki would shiver in near ecstasy at every word. What a fine game this was. How clever of him to think of it.

"I require little," he might say in enigmatic reply.

Little more than to witness this—Asgard's golden prince in a cage, submissive and reverent in the shadow of his king.

Time moves at a different pace in the prison—faster, of course, for that is the crueler choice by far—and for weeks, Loki torments his brother with only the rarest of visits.

Thor has little to do to pass the time. To burn off some of his physical energy, he swims naked in the stream and runs the perimeter that borders the maddening breadth of the void. Loki can tell when his brother is particularly frustrated with his isolation, for he runs for days and days until he drops from exhaustion.

He never does find a way out of the trap. Eventually he stops asking about the fair woman he met on Midgard, for he has learned that when he mentions her, Loki goes longer without returning for a visit.

When the king does show him enough favor to reappear, Thor is close to bursting with happiness.

He is a social creature, and Loki is now his entire world. Thor craves these visits far more than treats or presents, and he does everything in his power to make his king comfortable enough to stay as long as possible. He fetches Loki goblets of wine and watches every sip attentively, aching for the moment he can be of use and refill it. When they dine together, Thor sits at his king's side instead of across the table.

Sometimes he touches the sleeve of Loki's coat or captures the tassels of his silk scarf within his fingers, as if to reassure himself that he is real and not simply a fantasy born from longing.

They talk for hours—from outlandish tales Thor has discovered in the storybooks left for him to read to whispered confessions in the quiet, aching moments after Loki announces he must soon depart. They stare at each other for long stretches of time, neither speaking yet managing to communicate without effort.

They have each other's complete attention, and it is everything Loki has ever wanted.

"Is this a punishment?" Thor would sometimes ask, "that I have forgotten all I knew before and am made to live here instead of with you in your kingdom?"

Loki never answers this question nor any about Asgard, for watching his brother try to guess at the answers is far more satisfying. "Do you think you need to be punished?"

Thor bows his head. He does not feel like a criminal, but he has no memory of any crimes he might have committed and therefore cannot answer the question with confidence. "You are my king. That decision is yours alone."

With a smile playing at his lips, Loki stretches out his arm until his fingertips capture his brother's chin and guide it upward again. Thor's eyes are the most perfect shade of blue in this fortress of ice and starlight. They stretch wide for him in wonder and adoration—though today, there is also worry.

Loki decides to take pity on him. "Before you lost your memories, your actions incited a war," he explains. "I must admit, I'm somewhat cross with you for that indiscretion, for it is now your king's war to fight."

Thor appears horrified with himself—and hopelessly confused, for he does not remember any of it. His lips work but no words come as a result.

"Fear not," Loki says gently, his fingers sliding through the grains of Thor's beard. "I will forgive you in time."

Thor leans into Loki's touch, drinking up his favor like cool water on a parched throat. "You are gracious and ever kind, my king. Tell me what I might do to make right this transgression. If I have started a war, then let me finish it. I will fight for you. I can feel I am strong."

Loki says nothing in response, for he does not want his brother to remember precisely how strong he is. He only smiles in an ambiguous tease of a way and lets his adoring prisoner interpret that as he will.

Thor takes this as a challenge to prove himself and his loyalty, and his attentiveness to his king's temperament and desires increases exponentially. Though not naturally sensitive to the mood of those around him, Thor has become hyperaware of Loki in his quest to win his forgiveness. Thor counts every sigh and footstep. He takes note of the occasions when Loki gazes at him—and what ultimately encourages him to look away.

"You are weary," Thor observes after the passage of what feels like a year—though far less time has passed for Loki. "I see it growing in your expression, day after day. Is it the war that troubles you?"

Thor has been swimming in the stream but has paused to catch his breath. His torso is out of the water, and he leans with his arms resting on the edge. Droplets glisten on his skin and hair like diamonds.

Loki sits nearby, fully clothed with a forgotten goblet of wine in his hand, and watches his brother without blinking. He wonders if Thor realizes there is no bottom to the stream, or if he understands how much he is both loved and hated.

Loki does not like it when his brother sees through his carefully constructed mask and points out vulnerabilities he thought well hidden. "Tell me," he says to be cruel, "when was the last time you took note of the passage of a day?"

It is a rhetorical question, for there is neither day nor night here. There is nothing save for the empty space that persists between the two brothers, which both are painfully aware of. There is friction there; even without touching, their words and stares spark and ignite in the air.

"Do not speak of things you know little about," Loki continues. "Namely me and what I do when I am not here."

"I would like to." A breath later, Thor adds in a softer tone, "Know you, I mean."

Loki turns his face away, tightens his grip on his wine glass, and pretends not to pay attention as Thor rises from the water.

And oh, the build of friction. Loki can feel the promise of lightning in his teeth. Crackling in each of his brother's footsteps.

Thor is naked and dripping and without even a hint of inhibition. His body is chiseled perfection—from the broad expanse of his shoulders, down to the valley that runs between the muscles of his chest and abdomen, to the powerful spread of his thighs. Even his feet are beautiful—the bones of his ankles elegant and lovely.

Loki wonders if it is possible for a blush to permanently stain his skin. It is all he can do to remain seated as his brother approaches and stands before him, bold and unabashed. The water droplets that fall from Thor's body onto the ground disappear at once, leaving no trace of wetness behind—for there is only darkness there at their feet.

"Lie down with me," Thor says, his voice low, textured.

Loki stares at the long, tapering lengths of his brother's fingers. They are the hands of royalty. Loki's face does not react to the request, but his body is not so kind. He is so hard, it's difficult to concentrate on the act of speaking. All the blood has gone from his head.

"I am not tired," Loki manages with no small amount of effort. He takes a sip of wine. Then reconsiders and drains it dry.

Thor kneels until he's at eye level with his king. After he takes Loki's goblet away and sets it aside, the warm pressure of Thor's palms finds his thighs. "I know that."

Alarms resonate in Loki's mind, but that is hardly anything new. He has craved and dreaded this moment since he dropped Thor into this glass prison like a little doll to play with and torment.

Loki's hands rest on his lap, and Thor takes them, caressing each of them in turn in reverence of the power they wield. He kisses them both and then holds them to his face, encouraging Loki to touch him.

Then, bowing his head as if in prayer, Thor drops a kiss on the knee of his king.

It is a scorching, gorgeous thing—that kiss. It creeps through the threads of the fabric and leaves Loki's skin prickling with want.

"Must you always cover yourself so?" Thor asks. He has found the silk of Loki's scarf, the ends of which stretch to his lap. "I have often wondered why you never remove your coat. Are you cold?"

Loki uses just the tips of his fingers to explore the masculine beauty of his brother's face, striving all the while to suppress his reaction to it. (_Failing. Oh, how he is __**failing**_.)

"Always," he says—and imagines his breath freezing in the air between them.

Thor kisses him again, this one pressed to the other knee, as if he fears to tread elsewhere without permission. "I could warm you," he says, the offer seared onto Loki's skin.

The winter blue of Thor's eyes darts up to weigh his king's reaction. Finding no resistance—though perhaps a measure of barely suppressed panic—Thor moves forward, pushing between Loki's thighs, and presses his mouth to his stomach.

The heat of Thor's breath and kisses are like liquid fire through the layers of Loki's suit. His jaw goes slack and his hands move, trembling yet eager, to stroke the damp strands of his brother's hair. He dares not speak, for there is no telling what he might say or consent to. Loki does not trust his own reaction.

"I love you," Thor says, each word felt more than heard. "Lie down with me. Let me attend to your pleasure."

The blood Thor has warmed in Loki's abdomen creeps downward to lengthen his cock impossibly more. "You fool," Loki hisses, hardly knowing which one of them he is talking to. "What have you done?"

Thor pulls away from Loki's stomach and looks up with a smile that is equal parts adoration and coquettishness. "Too bold, my king?" he asks. His hands fall again onto Loki's thighs, and he begins to massage them, inching upward bit by bit.

The water from the stream runs down his arms, dampening Loki's clothing, but this is not the reason he begins to shiver. He lets out a gasp when Thor leans in to taste the working of Loki's throat. The burn of Thor's mouth on his skin is the feel of sin itself.

Loki hums with pleasure, feeling as though he is floating above it all. When he finally remembers himself and descends, he says, "We cannot do this. You are not in your right mind. Your memories. . . ."

"I mean to commit _you_ to memory," Thor says, then drags his mouth and tongue wet and wicked across his king's jawline. He pauses to inhale. "Your scent. Your taste. I want it all over me."

A pouting gasp slips from Loki's lips, and Thor moves in to taste that as well. Greedy little thing. He stops just short of a kiss—their noses bumping together, every breath a shared effort. Their lungs empty and refill, desperate for satisfaction yet always left in want. They have stolen each other's oxygen.

"Tell me to stop," Thor says, "and I will obey."

Loki reaches to touch his brother's mouth. It is an act of curiosity, for now that he's felt Thor's lips on his skin, he is in awe of the feel of them. Loki licks his own lips and says, "Do something for me."

"Anything," Thor replies at once. He takes Loki's fingers into his mouth and begins to suck.

Loki nearly groans but finds he can't release enough air from his lungs to manage it. The heat and wetness is _startling_. "Remember you acted first," he says with the last of his breath.

His fingers are just sliding out of his brother's mouth when their lips meet. Loki drags a trail of saliva across Thor's cheek. Their eyes are open and locked as they drink from each other. Brief kisses that are little more than a tease. Both of them are starving for this yet take only sips to quench their thirst.

Time and increasing familiarity deepen the connection. When Loki begins to understand and predict the movements of his brother's mouth against his, he follows along in tempo, matching the strokes of his tongue and the pressure of his fingertips against his flesh.

They do not stop until their lips are red and raw from overindulgence—and even then, they nip and play, in need of recovery but too addicted to care.

"Shall I suck you off, then?" Thor murmurs against the corner of his king's mouth, his fingers teasing Loki's cock through the strained stretch of fabric.

Loki's pupils are blown wide and wild in the darkness. He holds perfectly still, his stomach clenched tight, and concentrates on not spending too soon. Thor chuckles and nuzzles the shock away from his king's face.

Then he exhales—a gratified, sinking kind of sound—and moves downward.

* * *

Some time later, Thor throws himself down onto his stomach on the bed and cranes his head around with a boyish grin. His hair is still wet from his swim, and even here in a cage with no sunlight, his body manages to look like he is chiseled from pure gold.

Loki hovers in the shadows and stares.

His skin tingles with the ghost of Thor's touch, and he's holding his pants up with one hand. His fingers are shaking too hard to manage to refasten them. His cock is still hard and wet with Thor's saliva, and it pulses at the memory of those glistening strings of spittle stretching from the flushed pink of his cock over to the pout of Thor's lower lip.

The invitation is clearly there—spelled out in the delicious curve of Thor's ass and the spread of his thighs.

Loki imagines what it would feel like—to split his brother open and pound into him centuries of frustrations and jealousy.

But he does not move forward to take what is freely offered. Loki only shakes his head and says, "That is not what I want."

He has never been angrier with himself (or more relieved) when he trades places with his brother. Thor looks somewhat bemused as he sits up on his knees and allows Loki to lie down on the soft furs instead. But the moment is soon forgotten, for Thor begins to touch him.

He undresses his king with breathless veneration and uses his kisses to warm the pale skin he uncovers. And all of it is far sweeter than Loki thinks he can handle.

_Punish me_, he pleads with his brother silently. _Do you not yet realize I deserve it, you fool?_

"No oil," Loki says when Thor brings out a bottle.

Thor frowns. His fingertips are on Loki's upper thigh, just beneath the rise of his ass. "But I will hurt you."

Loki wants to tell him to shut up and do as his king commands. But as his brother coaxes his trembling thighs apart with increasingly confident strokes of his fingers, he loses all ability to speak.

"Please." Thor leaves a whisper of a kiss behind on the small of Loki's back. "Let me be kind to you."

The substantial weight of Thor's cock rests against Loki's thigh, and he fears the pain he has earned far too much to argue.

With silence as his permission, Thor proceeds to worship the body of his king. He kisses Loki breathless and massages his muscles until they have no memory of tension. Then Thor slicks his fingers up with oil and fucks Loki with them until he's practically weeping, his curses and pleading muffled in the furs.

Gone is that careful mask of calm and indifference he's maintained around Thor since the beginning of this charade. Loki is no king at his brother's hand, and he wonders if he has ever been.

"There," Thor says when Loki feels he cannot possibly handle anymore. "You are ready."

After Thor's fingers leave him, Loki feels an awful kind of emptiness inside. He is sore already, even well slicked and prepped with oil, but he craves that fullness. The connection with another. No, not just anyone—he wants _his brother_ inside of him. Piercing him, slicing him open and penetrating both body and spirit, punishing and humbling him while whispering words of love and promises of safety.

It is what a king would do and say. And why Loki refuses to do it himself.

Not here. Not now.

He feels the heat of Thor's body on his back as he repositions himself. His thighs tremble from exertion—but also with fear.

Thor's cock is easily as thick as a woman's forearm. Loki has never seen its like, nor can he imagine what it might feel like. Surely he cannot possibly stretch wide enough to accommodate—

"_Oh_," Loki breathes. His knees slide open as he melts down onto the bed. "_Oh_."

Thor has only penetrated him with the head of his cock. The oil has helped him ease past the tight ring of muscles, but there is still a ways to go. He rocks his hips in patient circles, coaxing himself deeper.

Loki bites his lower lip until it bleeds to keep from moaning the word _Brother_.

Beads of sweat have accumulated on his skin, which Thor wicks away with the passage of his mouth.

"You are so tight," Thor says. "I do hope I shall fit."

And Loki has to laugh at this—all the while panting and dazed—for he has never heard such an understatement in all his years.

They couple there beneath the silent passage of stars, fingers intertwined, Thor's mouth working along the back of Loki's neck. It is bliss and torment melded into one.

They move together, each rise met with a fall, every gasp and moan answered with another. Thor is _inside of him_—buried to the root, literally and figuratively filling Loki up until he feels like he might choke from the ecstasy. It is a helpless feeling—not being in control of the response of his own body. Of his pleasure or the speed at which he careens toward his climax.

By the time the warm spurt of Thor's orgasm fills him, Loki has already come twice from rutting into the furs. Afterward, he lies there in a daze, thoughtfully probing at the wetness of his brother's spendings, spreading it around just so he can feel the air cool it on his skin.

Thor sighs his approval when Loki lifts his fingers to his mouth to clean them.

Sweeter moments soon follow, wherein Thor rolls Loki over onto his back and licks the taste of wine and semen from his mouth. "I love you," Thor says again, the words rich and sticky. "Stay here with me. You do not have to leave."

Loki's eyes flutter open.

Of course, Thor loves him. What else is there in all his tiny, insignificant world for him to love except his king?

Reality begins to darken the corners of Loki's vision. He should not have come here.

"Tell me your name," Thor asks. His expression is sweet, hopeful. "It seems odd that I do not yet know it."

"Is that all that seems odd to you?" Loki muses.

Thor's gentle smile fades into something more hesitant, thus answering Loki's question. No, that is not all that feels odd to Thor.

"My hair has grown longer," Thor says as he toys with the blunt edge of Loki's curls. "But yours never changes. Have you noticed?"

"I cut it," Loki lies.

Three weeks have passed on Asgard since Thor's banishment. His hair has grown six inches.

How Loki would love to just lie there and listen to the drum of Thor's heartbeat. To the sound of water falling into nothing. Loki wants this to last forever, but there is a bitter taste in his mouth now.

"The color of your eyes reminds me of summertime," Thor says. "Of leaves and endless fields of grass. Do you remember the summer?"

_Shut up, shut up,_ Loki thinks. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

"Don't you?" he asks aloud, voice trembling.

Thor senses the disquiet in his king and strokes his face to soothe him. "It has been a long time since I saw anything green—save for you. Not that you leave me in want, but . . . ."

Loki stares at him, dreading what's coming.

"Do you think . . . ?" Thor begins. "That is, if it pleases you . . . ."

"Spit it out," Loki says.

Thor's eyes ask the question before he manages to voice it. "Can I come home?"

And there it is.

It is not the first time he has requested this, but Loki has only ever laughed inside in response. Only now, he's all too aware of the fact that this place is killing his brother—and destroying what precious little remains of Loki's soul.

"Have I upset you?" Thor asks. "I only mean that I wish to be where you are. _You_ are my home, and I die a little inside each time you leave."

Loki's laugh is a hard, bitter thing that hurts coming out.

When he manages to swallow down the bile that has risen up in his throat, he climbs out of bed, dresses himself, and leaves without another word.

Thor never has known what's good for him.

* * *

Though he is full of distress and confusion over whatever it is that he did that was so wrong, in the end, Thor does not have to wait long for his king to return.

However, the person who arrives is not the one he expects.

It is an old man, white-haired and wrinkled with a chest like a great barrel. His single eye reveals the sharpness of his mind. "Thor?" he asks, stepping forward into the light.

When Thor recognizes Loki's golden spear in the old man's hand, he shoots to his feet, uncertain if he is alarmed or relieved. He has never seen anyone but Loki within these walls of glass. "Who are you?" he asks, pointing. "And how did you come by that spear?"

The stranger's chin jerks to one side. The question has caught him off guard. "Do you not know your own father?" Then he stops and stills. "Oh. Now I remember. I took your memories from you."

It takes a moment, but the set of Thor's shoulders relaxes into something less hostile. There is a familiarity in the old man's gaze that sends an ache of longing into his throat—but it is a different kind of longing than what Loki made him feel.

Later, after Odin brings his lost son back to Asgard and restores his memories to him, Thor doesn't speak for three days.

When he finally emerges from his chambers and finds the All-Father in his study, Thor asks, "How did you know where to find me? Did _he_ tell you?"

Odin blinks at him and chooses his words carefully before speaking. "Gungnir led me to your whereabouts."

"And _he_ left Gungnir here for you?"

A curt nod. "So it would seem," Odin says. "I awoke with it at my side."

Loki has granted his prisoner's final request, it seems—to come home. However, he apparently did not hear the part where Thor had confessed that his home was wherever Loki was.

"Where is my brother?" Thor asks.

Odin's gaze darkens at the endearment. He merely shakes his head in response, though whether he does not know or simply does not care to say is never made clear.

* * *

Thor searches for Loki, hardly knowing what he might say or do should he ever find the little bastard. But it is not until Odin falls into his next sleep, and the cool weight of Gungnir is entrusted to Thor's care that he receives his first hint.

In the hushed, still moments between night and dawn, Gungnir whispers secrets to him long kept. Secrets meant for the day he assumed the throne and ownership of the king's spear.

Thor has no idea how the thing works, but there is little need for practice. Gungnir responds to his thoughts and makes true his bidding.

When he asks to see Loki, he has only to lift up his boot from the gold-gilded tiles of Asgard's palace and set it down again onto pure darkness.

At first, the dimness makes him think he must have gone blind.

And then he remembers. It took a while for his eyesight to adjust after his return to Asgard.

There, in a vacant pocket of space and time, he finds a second world that Loki has crafted. A twin to Thor's prison—with its glittering hearth filled with blue and purple fire and winding stream that falls into non-existence—except this prison has been constructed for another.

From where he sits and watches the stars, Loki's skin glows like the light of Midgard's moon. Silver and pale. A reflection of something greater than himself. When he takes notice of Thor and turns, the green of his eyes holds the memory of summertime.

Loki is startled, and the pages of his book fall shut without him noticing. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Thor's lips part in surprise. There is a sharp feeling like stabbing in his chest, and he struggles at first to speak.

He considers the possibility that Loki might be trying to deceive him, for such trickery is certainly not above the God of Mischief. But the Loki before him is entirely unlike himself. His manner is sweeter than Thor remembers. He is more curious and amazed than defensive, as he might normally be.

_Loki was like this as a boy_, Thor realizes._ Before bitterness and jealousy drove a wedge between us. If he were merely acting, he would not be able to fabricate the innocence in his eyes._

"You truly don't remember me," Thor says.

It is not a question. Loki has no memory of the taste of his brother's tongue in his mouth.

How dare he leave Thor alone with these thoughts? They are seared onto the retina of his mind's eye.

Thor dreams about his brother's cock—of the push of it down his throat. Of the salty sweet taste of it that felt so good to suck. He wakes up, painfully hard and ready to spill onto his sheets at the first touch, and strains to hear the sound of the stream falling into nothingness. He had been miserable in that trap Loki had willed into being for him—but only in the moments when _his king_ was not present. When Loki was there, Thor had never felt more alive. It is both twisted and sickening to think upon it now, yet this does not stop Thor from obsessing over the memories. Like a scab he cannot stop picking long enough to allow it to heal.

Loki deserves to be punished for what he has done, but it seems he has already taken that task upon himself. Thor's anger softens at this, for he knows his brother has placed himself here in penance.

How young and lost Loki appears. His hair has grown more than a foot, and it shines raven black as it spills onto his shoulders. He has been here for years by himself. What had Loki been thinking? What madness consumed and inspired him to do such a thing? Thor wants to strangle the life out of him.

(_Then breathe him back to life with his kisses._)

"Who are you?" Loki asks again.

Thor might have replied to this several ways. He might have shared his name with Loki or confirmed their link as brothers.

But he is not feeling quite that merciful yet.

"I am your king," Thor replies instead.

Loki seems to hover in place—unmoving yet trembling all over. Though his physical appearance reveals he has not been in want of anything, he has the eyes of a starved man. He hungers not for food or drink but only for this—for company, identity, and a warm body to draw close to. He wrings his hands to keep them from reaching out.

Without even knowing him, Loki already worships his king. Thor is his entire world.

"Perhaps it was you who punished me, then," Loki says, thoughtful and quiet. His chin drops. "I have often wondered what I did."

Thor could tell Loki that he inflicted this punishment upon himself—but he is not yet willing to relinquish that power yet. Perhaps he will soon give in and bid Gungnir to return his brother's memories to him.

Or perhaps he won't.

When Loki looks up again, his eyes shine with tears that soon run like rivers down his cheeks. "Can I come home?" he asks, his voice so timid and broken that Thor aches at the sound of it.

Thor moves at once to stand over his little brother, tucking those unearthly beautiful features safely away in the prison of his shadow.

Leaning down to cup Loki's face in his palms—to remember the warmth of his skin and see the summertime in his eyes—Thor smiles and parts his lips to offer reply.


End file.
